Deadly Beautiful
by danse
Summary: A missing princess returns suddenly to her home, a secret organization plots global political overthrow, and the first and only line of defense is five teenage boys whose number of personal problems nearly matches their death toll.
1. The Kiss of a Throwing Star

Disclaimer: I am the proud owner of several pieces of Gundam Wing merchandise, including a model of Deathscythe Hell and several books. I tried to present this as a legal loophole to my lawyer to prove that I do actually own Gundam Wing. He patted me on the head and said, "Nice try." Then he gave me a piece of paper. reads 'I do not own Gundam Wing or any person, place, or thing belonging to that name that may appear in this story. I am receiving no compensation, monetary or otherwise, from this work.'

Author's Note: Okay. Allow me to explain this…undertaking. This is a Gundam Wing alternate universe fic (present time), about spies. That's right, spies. Think James Bond. Ish. It will be very long. There will be romance, because what is a long story without romance? Het and slash both. If one or the other bothers you, I don't want to hear about it. I have a predilection for utilizing a grandiose vocabulary. I'll try to curb the urges whenever possible, but I still write wordy. That's about it. Please don't forget to review, o-tay? (.)

Deadly Beautiful - Chapter One

By danse

- - -

Duo squinted around in the darkness, but it was no good. There wasn't enough light to make anything out. He reached into the breast pocket of his black jacket and pulled out a pair of glasses. They looked quite ordinary: small, squarish lenses in a popular style of thick black frames. However, when he put them on and pressed a small button, hidden inside the angle where the arm met the lens frame, everything he saw through the glasses was suddenly bathed in the green glow of night vision.

His employer had been proud of this technology. All of the wires were hidden inside the hollow frames. The glasses were worth an extraordinary amount of money, and Duo had been informed that he would be tortured and killed if anything happened to them.

He smirked at no one in particular as he looked around the room again. Everything stood out in sharp, creepy relief. Moving as a whisper, he crept along the wall towards a sweeping staircase that led to the second floor. Keeping a memory of the blueprints in his head, he guessed that the room he was looking for was upstairs, along the unseen hallway.

A rustle from behind startled him, and he whipped around into a crouch and drew his silencer-equipped gun as he searched for the noise. The room was empty. The security guard he'd dodged earlier was probably still in the kitchen, near the back door. Suppressing a sigh of relief, he put away the gun and continued his journey.

Blonde hair, blue eyes, late teens… He recalled the appearance of his target. This would be a quick job; one stab in the neck with the syringe he carried, then bundle her up and go out the window. Duo usually preferred disposing of the targets immediately, but apparently she was worth far more alive, and he knew to listen to his instructions.

He reached the corner where the wall and the one that edged the stairs met, and stopped for a final scan of the room before he began his slightly risky ascent. Nothing revealed itself in the bare, electric green room in front of him. With a silent nod of approval, he resumed his slow, silent creeping towards his goal.

He was three steps from the stairs when he heard another faint rustle and turned quickly towards the source. All he saw was something small hurtling for his head, and he instinctively jerked his head back, his wide-eyed gaze following the thing as it embedded itself in the wall with a thunk, directly where his head had been.

The tip of his nose began to sting a little. He touched it and his fingers came away with a smear of dark liquid on them. _That bastard cut my nose!_ He turned around to glare at the offender, gun in hand.

All he could see was a pair of glittering eyes staring at him from across the room, crouched in the shadows near the kitchen doorway. The rest of the body was too dark to be illuminated even by the glasses. Duo narrowed his eyes. _You…_ Without hesitation, he aimed his gun and fired at the dark area below those taunting eyes.

The figure jerked upwards from its crouch, trying to dodge the bullet, but he grunted suddenly and Duo knew he'd hit him. Unfortunately, he didn't have much time to gloat, because a very big security guard ran into the hallway, having heard either the _peew_ of silenced gunfire or the wounded grunt.

Duo didn't bother to waste time panicking. He turned around, pulled the object out of the wall, and escaped up the stairs. The guard made to follow him, and he squeezed off three shots in succession at the beefy man. The guard collapsed and Duo made his way, further unhindered, up the stairs to the second floor.

As he passed closed doors in his flight, he remembered his mission, but it was beyond help now. He would be smarter to abort it and escape with his life. He saw a window at the end of the hall, with an end table below it, and his face lit up. _Should I stop and open it?_ But that would take time; he had caused a disturbance already. There had to be more than one guard in this house. Taking a deep breath, he leaped onto the table and used his momentum to crash through the window.

A shower of glass sparkled around him as he plummeted fifteen feet straight down, and landed in a topiary. He scrambled out of the stiff branches as fast as he could and ran full out for the fence across the yard. He thought he could hear someone yelling behind him. He scaled the fence, jumped to the ground, rolled to his feet, and kept running until he found the alley he was looking for.

He ran through the alley, dodging garbage cans, and without breaking his stride, he pulled a little black remote out of the pocket of his jacket and hit two buttons on it consecutively. A loud click was heard from the car on the other side, and then the engine started with a roar. He opened the unlocked door and jumped in, turned the key that was sitting in the ignition, and sped away from the scene.

Duo perched apprehensively on the end of his chair and shivered a bit. The office felt cavernous and chilly, despite the dark wood paneling that covered the walls. Even though he was tired, uncomfortable, and a little scared, he couldn't help but think that his boss, with wealth apparent by his choice of interior decoration, could afford to heat the place once in a while.

"Were you followed?" The man on the other side of the desk did not look impressed by what he'd just been told.

Duo shook his head vigorously, and his braid echoed the movement comically. "I took all the necessary precautions."

"Good boy." The praise was rather distracted, as the old man was currently scratching his long nose, evidence that he was lost in thought. After a moment he looked up and seemed surprised to see Duo still sitting there in his office. "Well, I suppose it can't be helped; as long as our cover isn't blown. Did you somehow manage to find anything before you got out?"

"No…yes." Duo reached into the left thigh pocket of his pants and removed the object he'd pulled out of the wall. He put it on the desk between them. "Somebody threw this at me, and then all hell broke loose. I'm pretty sure it wasn't a member of the household who threw it."

The man whom Duo knew only as G stared at the thing with surprise and a little fear. Now that he wasn't busy running away from people with large guns, Duo had the opportunity to look at it more closely himself. It was obviously a weapon--he'd found that out the hard way earlier--but it was a very odd choice. It was small enough to fit in the palm of his hand, and shaped like a six-pointed star. Each point was a clean, double-sided razor blade; all traces of his blood had probably rubbed off into the fabric of his pocket.

He picked it up and held it up in the light, watching it shine. "It's beautiful," he breathed. And it was. Terribly beautiful, and perfectly deadly in the hands of its master.

"It's called a _shuriken_, or a throwing star, if you don't speak Japanese." G said as he watched his charge examine the blade. "Most definitely not in the weaponry of that household. There aren't many people who can use those effectively."

Duo's attention was jerked away from the throwing star to focus on G. "You know who threw it at me, don't you?" he asked accusingly.

Instead of answering the question, G stood up and looked out the large bay window at the city lights burning below. "You look tired, Duo. Why don't you go home and get some rest."

Duo glared at G more suspiciously. It wasn't like him to dodge questions. But that wasn't a request, it was an order, and all Duo could do was set down the throwing star and leave the room. He stifled a yawn as he stood in the descending elevator, and by the time he found his own car (he'd used a different vehicle for the getaway) and drove home, he was ready to sleep for a week.

- - - - - - - - - -

A/N: Who tried to kill Duo? Who was Duo going to kidnap? Exactly what the hell is going on here? Why don't you leave a review and tell me what you think? (Come on, you guys are smart, and it's all pretty obvious.) On to Chapter Two!


	2. Smiling Knives

Disclaimer: I am the proud owner of several pieces of Gundam Wing merchandise, including a model of Deathscythe Hell and several books. I tried to present this as a legal loophole to my lawyer to prove that I do actually own Gundam Wing. He patted me on the head and said, "Nice try." Then he gave me a piece of paper. /reads/ 'I do not own Gundam Wing or any person, place, or thing belonging to that name that may appear in this story. I am receiving no compensation, monetary or otherwise, from this work.'

Author's Note: Okay. Allow me to explain this…undertaking. This is a Gundam Wing alternate universe fic (present time), about spies. That's right, spies. It will be very long. There will be romance, because what is a long story without romance? Het and slash both. If one or the other bothers you, I don't want to hear about it. I have a predilection for utilizing a grandiose vocabulary. I'll try to curb the urges whenever possible, but I still write wordy. That's about it. Please don't forget to review, o-tay? (.)

Deadly Beautiful - Chapter Two

By danse

- - -

Somewhere in Mediterranean Europe, hidden in the hills, was the heavily protected and highly secret base of a small guerilla group. A man, who was known to his underlings only as S, organized it.

If you could manage to get past the front door, you would find yourself facing a long hallway, lined by about twenty identical steel doors that led to the rest of the compound. If you entered the sixth door on the right and took two left turns, passing three guard stations and two doors locked by keycards, you would find yourself standing in front of the Playroom.

The Playroom was ironically named. It was a large chamber filled with weapons: knives of every size, swords, darts, and several other sharp and blunt objects of destruction. There were practice dummies and standing targets, as well as a sparring ring in one corner, meant for practice in hand-to-hand combat.

Agents who served S used the room, as well as two others in the compound, on a regular basis, but one agent in particular could often be found in the Playroom, and as it happened, he was currently using it to learn the art of throwing knives.

Trowa took a deep breath and exhaled slowly as he stared at the target. Man-shaped and flat, with a bulls eye drawn over the heart, it taunted him from across the room where it was stuck to the wall. Two small, black-handled knives were lodged in the outer rings of the bulls eye, and many more puncture marks dotted the whole figure.

Carefully, he brought the specially balanced knife in his hand back over his shoulder. With the blade between his fingers, he snapped his wrist forward quickly. The knife flew toward the target, and stuck with a dull thud in the outer ring with its mates. He frowned at the whole display and shifted another knife from his left hand into his right, concentrating again.

"Enjoying yourself?"

The voice came so unexpectedly from behind his left ear that he jumped and nearly dropped the knife on his foot. He whirled around to find himself staring at wavy brown hair. Below it was a female face, smirking at him.

"Boo," she said.

"Jesus Christ, Catherine! You startled the hell out of me!" Trowa glared at her. Unfortunately, he couldn't hold it for long and broke down into a half smile.

"…And if I was anybody else, you would be dead right now," she purred. "I think you need to be just a little more paranoid. You'll live longer."

Catherine winked at him and went to the target board to pull out the knives that were lodged in it. Trowa used the opportunity to admire the view. She was wearing a black spaghetti strap tank top and tight black jeans held up by a silver belt, showing off all of her curves. Her shoulder-length brown hair was tucked behind ears that displayed multiple silver studs and rings. She brought back the knives and smiled at him, and he tried to wipe the dopey look from his face, without much success.

"Looks like you're having fun, Trowa. How long have you been in here?"

He shrugged, unsure. "An hour, maybe two?"

"Are you making any progress at all?" She grinned and leaned against the ropes of the sparring ring.

"Not much. This is damn hard."

"Well, why don't you take a break and I can try it? It looks like fun."

Trowa smirked. "Are you going to give me lessons?"

She gave him an annoyed look that, nevertheless, looked very seductive, as if she couldn't control it. He had to restrain the urge to melt into a puddle on the floor. "All right," he said, and held out the handful of knives. "Go ahead."

She beamed and took all six of them, then stood with the toe of her sneaker against the mark on the floor. Trowa stood behind her and waited; as far as he knew, Catherine was a secretary or something. He was quite sure she'd gotten her job for her looks and nothing else. He just hoped she wouldn't hurt herself with the knives.

Catherine leaned forward slightly, shifted _two_ of the throwing knives from her left hand to her right, and stared at the target with intense and confident concentration. Trowa raised an eyebrow in puzzlement, but decided to let her do what she wanted.

With the handles between her fingers instead of the blades, she drew her arm across her chest and flicked it forwards. The knives landed in the head of the man-shape, separated horizontally by about two inches, instead of on the chest target. Trowa frowned. _She missed completely. At least she got within the outline, though. On her first try!_

Catherine wasn't done with her experiment yet. She took two more of the knives and flung them, smiling with satisfaction when they landed in the head as well, side by side again, right underneath and just a little outside of the first two. Almost immediately, she released the fifth, and it landed between and just barely below the third and fourth.

She turned around and smiled at Trowa. "Thank you," she said happily, playing with the sixth knife in her hands. He smiled back, a little uncertainly, and held out his hand to take it from her. She didn't give it to him, though. Instead she smiled more widely, brought the knife to her lips, and kissed the flat of the blade. Then, in one fluid motion, she turned around and threw the last knife from across her chest. It landed with a _thunk_, embedded nearly to the hilt, in the very middle of her collection of knives on the target.

Trowa thought he heard a giggle from behind him as he gawked at the wall. There was now a grotesque happy face of knives smiling at him from the head of the man-shape. Still gaping, he turned around quickly, looking for Catherine. She was gone.

- - - - - - - - - -

A/N: More character introduction. Hooray. There's a storyline coming, and the chapters will probably get longer, it'll just take me a while to get there. In the meantime, is it interesting? How about Sexy!Catherine? I like to write her with a deadly amazing talent with knives. This incarnation of her is a little bit crazy, too. Just wait 'til later. (.) I don't know yet what the next chapter will be about, but there will be one. Review!


	3. Skinny Girl, Light Fingers

A/N: Thank you for all the lovely reviews so far. Yes, I know Trowa and Catherine are siblings, but at this point in the story, they don't know they are. Don't worry, incestis one of my few squicks.I won't write any of that. Just trust me and keep reading.

Disclaimer: Every time I buy a Coke product, I check under the cap to see if I've won anything. I've bought about a hundred Cokes in the past year, and not once has the cap said, 'You have just won complete ownership and control of Gundam Wing.' I have won about ten free Cokes, but they're gone now hic, so you can't have them.

Deadly Beautiful - Chapter Three

by danse

- - -

Duo gingerly peeled the band-aid off of his nose and frowned at his reflection. Early afternoon sunlight streamed in through the bathroom window and left a blinding patch on the mirror by his left ear. He had to close the blinds and turn on the overhead light so that he could see something. Once he could, he winced at his image.

His nose was slightly red around the deep cut that slashed across the bridge. Parts of his face and his bare arms were flecked with scratches from his dive through a closed window the night before. The redness in his eyes betrayed the late hour at which he'd gone to bed. He shut his eyes painfully and groaned a little. The muscles in his arms ached, and he wasn't sure why.

He stumbled into the shower and relished the hot water spilling over him, across his tired skin and through his long hair. He washed his nose as delicately as possible, trying to clean the cut and yet avoid the stinging pain.

After toweling off, rebraiding his hair, and dressing in black sweatpants and a white T-shirt, he put another band-aid on his nose and wandered into his kitchen in pursuit of breakfast. The flick of a switch started the coffee maker, and while he waited for it to prepare his morning pot, he walked into the living room and turned on the TV.

Duo had an unconcerned bachelor's approach to interior decoration. He lived in a smallish apartment on the fifth floor of a brownstone, in a mostly unnoticed but clean part of New York City. The inside was decorated sparsely, with slightly worn tan carpets and white walls that either a previous tenant or the landlord had painted long ago. The kitchen had some kind of off-white laminate on the countertops, and most of the appliances had come with the place.

His bedroom held only a double bed and a dresser, with clothes covering the floor in small piles. His living room consisted of his circa-early nineties TV on a cheap stand, a brown coffee table, and a threadbare grey couch, which he now sank down on to watch the news. He watched with relative boredom as the news anchor talked about a new volunteer halfway shelter across town, but the next item made him sit up straighter.

"…Early this morning, city police were called to the scene of a break-and-enter on the Upper East Side of Manhattan. The home of Foreign Affairs Minister Edward Darlian was woken around 2:00 this morning by the sound of gunfire. Personal security in the Darlian home were unable to subdue the intruder, and the criminal escaped." The picture cut from the stone-faced anchor to a grainy video of someone in black bolting across an expansive yard, before dodging behind a tree and disappearing. The guards could be heard shouting in the background and one raced to the fence, about five seconds behind the escapee.

Duo's eyes went wide and he exhaled in relief. There had been no long brown rope trailing behind the person in black. His braid had stayed tucked inside his jacket and shirt the whole time. G would be angry about the videotape, but at least his most distinguishing feature wasn't on the video. The anchor kept talking on the TV about the break-in.

"…Not sure what the intruder's motive was, and none of the witnesses could describe him or her, except that the person was believed to be around five feet eight inches tall." The story continued with a brief background of Mr. Darlian's formidable contributions to world politics and his wife's humanitarian efforts with charity and so on. He had a daughter; a school picture of a young woman with blonde hair and blue eyes flashed onto the screen. She was wearing the red uniform of a private school and was smiling prettily, showing a top row of white teeth. She couldn't have been older than sixteen.

Duo frowned at the picture and pressed a button on the remote control. The TV winked off and he went back into the kitchen to pour himself a cup of coffee. He sat down heavily in a vinyl-padded stool at the counter (he had no kitchen table) and brooded silently as he drank the hot brown liquid. The mission had been so simple, but he'd failed completely. G hadn't looked terribly pleased the night before, as it was. All of the publicity he'd attracted would make a second attempt very difficult.

The phone rang and interrupted his sullen mood. He picked it up with a sigh, suspecting who it was. "H'lo?" he said tiredly.

"Maxwell, we need you at the office. Linda in Accounting found a discrepancy in the reports you filed yesterday." The voice was that of a secretary whom he knew quite well. Of course there was no Linda, or Accounting department, for that matter. She was talking about the fouled-up mission, but spoke as if he had a desk job like a normal person. Phone lines were insecure and precautions needed to be taken to avoid suspicion.

"All right," he replied, dreading the day already. "I'll be there in twenty minutes."

After changing into going-out-in-public clothes, Duo put his jacket on and walked down the stairs of his building to the street. Instead of going for his car, which was parked fairly close to the front door, he turned right and wove his way down the crowded lunchtime sidewalk until he came to a coffee shop. He pushed the door open and a tiny bell tinkled somewhere. Five people waited in line at the counter, and he joined at the end.

Ten minutes later, he sat down at a small table by the front window with a black coffee, a honey glazed donut, and the _Times_. Flipping past a grainy image of a black figure running across the front page, he found the comics and the sports section and distracted himself until he was done eating.

With a friendly nod to a hot dog vendor on the sidewalk, he continued in the same direction down the street. By this point, he wanted to put off going to the 'office' for as long as possible, so he decided to walk. Besides, he justified to himself, the traffic at lunchtime was too heavy to go far in a car, and it was only about ten blocks.

He managed to enjoy himself, walking casually along in the sunshine, so much that he let his guard slip a little. Normally, he would have heard the girl yelling, "Johnny! Johnny, get your ass back here!" as she ran through the crowd. Normally, he would have noticed her running towards him in time to do something about it. But he didn't, and soon he was flat on his back in the middle of the sidewalk, the wind knocked out of him. The girl sat up, shook her head, and staggered to her feet.

"Watch where you're going, buddy!" she snarled at him. She didn't bother trying to help him off the ground.

He just stared at her. She was short and skinny, with short black hair and sky blue eyes. They burned with a nameless, but alluring, spark. Duo blinked a few times and turned over to get his hands and a knee under him. By the time he got to his feet, she was gone.

A little dazed, he stuffed his hands in the pockets of his jacket and started to walk away from the scene. After three steps, he stopped. Something was missing. He checked every pocket he had at least three times, but his fears were true. His wallet was gone.

With a groan and a sinking feeling, he remembered the fall; a light touch, then her hand ghosted away and concealed its treasure. He turned around and ran down the sidewalk for half a block, pushing through the people and squinting in the sun, but it was fruitless. The girl had escaped.

"_Fuck!_" he said loudly to no one in particular. _What a great day…_

Feeling a personal storm cloud collecting over his head, Duo resumed walking at a fast pace to his destination.

Duo stood inside a small, but dignified reception area, filled with coffee tables, chairs, and potted plants. He cleared his throat loudly and the woman at the reception desk looked up, tendrils of her grey hair falling in her face. She gave him a reproachful look.

"I called you an hour ago," she scolded him.

"I know. I was busy," Duo lied horribly. He was a good liar--he had to be--but he had never managed to lie to Helen.

"Uh-huh," She said skeptically. "Avoiding him, were you?" She went back to looking at her work, but he knew she was still listening.

"I had my wallet stolen."

She looked up at him again with sympathy. "Poor dear," she said sincerely. "But I think you should go in. He's getting impatient."

Duo acquiesced and walked over to the large, oak paneled double doors that led into G's office. They swung open silently when he pushed them, and he entered to see his employer leaning back in the chair behind his desk, talking on the phone.

"…I want you to bring it in today." G glared at the wall as he listened. "Well, stop by and leave it with Helen before you go." He tapped a finger on the arm of the chair, and then sat up suddenly. "That's not a request, it's an order. I expect you before 7:00 tonight," he barked, and then hung up the phone.

He looked at Duo standing just inside the door. "Don't just stand there, boy, come in!"

Duo sat in front of the desk, in the same chair he'd been in the night before. He noticed the throwing star sitting on the corner of the desk, sticking upright from a block of wood. He looked up at G, who started without preamble, obviously annoyed.

"I just sent an agent in to retrieve the security tape. You're all over the news, boy." G picked up a newspaper and started to read. "'The intruder escaped via a second floor window and eluded guards on the grounds, before leaving the premises near an alleyway. One guard sustained multiple gunshot wounds and is in serious but stable condition. Members of the Darlian residence declined to comment.'" He set down the paper and stared at a point just behind Duo's head, scratching his nose.

"This complicates things rather a lot, Maxwell. I consider it unlikely that we'll be able to use the same tactic again. A new plan is in order."

Duo opened his mouth hesitantly. "Um, forgive my ignorance, but why exactly is it so important that we kidnap Relena Darlian?"

G glared at Duo. "Duo, I keep my agents in the dark for a reason. Knowing too much can impair your judgement, cripple your mission, and endanger the lives of your coworkers. Your job is to do as I tell you and not wonder _why_. You don't need to know _why_. Leave the details to me. I told you when you joined this agency, all information is on a strictly need-to-know basis." And that was the end of that.

Duo stared at G across the desk. For an eternity he studied his tired eyes, his grey mushroom-cloud hair, and his long, crooked nose. This man had been his mentor for the last eight years. He had been an orphan on the street and G had taken him in. Helen had treated him like her own child. Here, in the basement training area underneath this office, he had learned the basics and then the intricacies of self-defense. He had learned how to put together and fire a gun. He had learned to wire explosives.

In eight years, he had become the best agent in G's service. He did all the dirty work: reconnaissance, assassination, arson, theft, kidnappings, and small-scale terrorism. He had trained new agents. He had interrogated people. He had no idea anymore of how many people he'd killed. By his own reckoning, Duo was sixteen.

He'd been through a lot, in his short life. But he was still privy to nothing. Maybe G was protecting him, and maybe knowing _why_ would keep him from sleeping peacefully for the rest of his life, but he felt that it was his turn to know what was going on. He needed to understand the stakes.

He contemplated his employer for a while, and then looked at the throwing star. "You've got competition, haven't you? There's another organization and you're trying to stay a step ahead. You know who threw that at me," he gestured at the weapon, "and why. G, I need to know what the threat is, so I can be prepared."

G's face remained an emotionless mask. It was infuriating. When he spoke, his voice was quiet and the icy tone sent chills down Duo's spine. "Maxwell, you're dismissed. I'll contact you at a later date with your next mission."

G began studying some papers on his desk, and Duo had to restrain the urge to fling the throwing star at his eye. He got up and left the room quietly, completely thwarted.

- - - - - - - - - -

A/N: Ouch, shut down. Poor Duo. New characters, yay. Watch for both of them playing a larger role, and the nameless one getting named. Guess who she was. (O.o) Maybe another main character intro next chapter? What do you think? I'm kinda wishing I had a beta reader, myself. Why don't you review and tell me what you think about the story and who you think should come next? Watch this space…


	4. Plotting Payback in the Pit

A/N: So far, so good. Sorry 'bout the wait, but now school's over. This chappy's about Heero. Trace amounts of background-ness, and filling in the blanks. Enjoy. Review.

Disclaimer: Every time I buy a Coke product, I check under the cap to see if I've won anything. I've bought about a hundred Cokes in the past year, and not once has the cap said, 'You have just won complete ownership and control of Gundam Wing.' I _have_ won about ten free Cokes, but they're gone now /hic/, so you can't have them.

Deadly Beautiful - Chapter Four

By danse

- - -

He sat on the concrete floor in the darkness with his arms wrapped around his knees, hugging them close to his face. If he squinted, he could just make out the outline of his sneakers in the very faint crack of light that came from under the door. When he was small, he had been afraid of the dark, and would just sit in this same spot rigidly, his eyes frozen wide open with fright, not quaking a muscle, while he silently counted down the hours until he could go back into the light. As the years passed, though, he had gotten used to the inky blackness, and now he rarely felt that paralyzing fear when he was shut in this room. He almost welcomed the dark, like an old friend.

He yawned, stretched, and pushed stubborn locks of brown hair away from his eyes, which was a rather pointless exercise since he couldn't see anything anyway. Not that there was anything else to do in here. Adjusting himself so that he was sitting cross-legged, he put his head in his hands and tried to decide how long he'd been in the five-by-five foot cell. Nine hours was his best guess. That meant that in about another hour, they would open the door and put down his first meal since the start of this imprisonment.

That was the best way for them to punish him now. He had a high metabolism and a slight frame, and when they locked him in here, they fed him every ten hours. If they didn't forget about him, that is. Which rarely happened. His stomach growled like far-off thunder in the silence. _Just one more hour_, he thought, as he curled up into a loose ball on the floor and shut his eyes, trying to pass the time.

A little over an hour later, he was woken suddenly by the clank and groan of a heavy metal door opening. Harsh fluorescent lights in the ceiling outside the cell shone into the tiny space as the door swung out, and the boy had to shade his eyes from the painful glare. His eyeballs felt like they were on fire and white patches swirled and danced in his vision. He heard the scrape of a tray on the concrete as it was pushed inside the cell. He crawled towards the door, squeezing his eyes shut in the light.

Slowly, he peeped his eyelids open and squinted at the tray. Soup, a bun, and a cup of water were laid out. He didn't wait for his vision to clear before starting to inhale his food; he would have five minutes before they took the tray and shut the door, and he had to use the bathroom, too. Two armed guards lounged outside the door, half-watching him eat while they talked disinterestedly.

When he was fed, watered, and escorted to the bathroom, they took the empty food tray and slammed the heavy door shut, bathing Heero Yuy in absolute, smothering darkness. He scooted back against the wall opposite the door and shut his eyes as he leaned his head against the hard wall. Ten hours of confinement had passed. Sixty-two remained before he would be released.

His master, who had a robotic claw for a hand and was known and feared by his subordinates only as J, had been very disappointed in the failure of his last mission, and had sent him to this cell--known as the Pit--for three days. Here, he was supposed to reflect on what he'd done wrong, and do it better next time. Perfectly. Anything less than perfect from Heero, was a disappointment to J. A mistake in the mission was always due to human error, so the best way to circumvent that was to eliminate the error. Heero had been molded since infancy, so he was told, to be better than human. The Perfect Spy, the Perfect Assassin and the Perfect Agent. But he had glitches. Heero was very sorry that he had these glitches, and so was J, so he said, because that meant that Heero had to be punished.

Heero arranged his back as comfortably as possible against the wall and mentally replayed the last mission, not for the first, nor the last, time during his stay in the Pit.

- - - Flashback - - -

It had been a rather simple assignment, really: infiltrate the house, assassinate the target, and leave without a trace. He'd done it several times in the past without any mishaps. But in the past, he hadn't had any competition for the target.

At first it had gone smoothly. Heero had been dropped off three blocks from the house, and broke into the large manor via a basement window. He made his way up the stairs, avoiding all the ignorant security detail that were posted anti-strategically throughout the first floor, and made it to within fifteen feet of the stairs leading to the bedrooms.

He gritted his teeth and frowned as he remembered what had happened next.

He crouched behind a chair to quickly check his surroundings before dashing across the open floor to the stairs. He was so expectant of seeing no one that he did a double take when he saw the shadow of someone standing by the staircase. Heero gasped almost inaudibly in surprise, and the person turned and crouched, pointing a gun that glinted dully in a sliver of moonlight.

With a smirk, Heero drew a small bladed star out of a pouch at his side and fingered it absently while he waited for his chance. The interloper would no longer be a problem, soon. He watched like a hawk as the person, obviously with nefarious purposes of his or her own, slowly rose to its feet and started to creep towards the stairs. When the shadow was directly opposite Heero, its head was briefly illuminated by moonlight from a high window. He took advantage of his chance to aim, and flung the star at the person's temple.

That should have been it. The intruder should have been dead. But she--it must have been a girl, for there was long hair tucked inside her jacket--dodged the deadly weapon. And then shot him. He was caught off guard by the fact that she was still alive, and hadn't quite dodged the shot in time. The bullet had lodged itself in his right thigh. The guard in the kitchen was woken up by the noise and rushed into the foyer to see what was going on. Heero dove and rolled under the chair to hide and therefore save himself. The guard saw only the girl by the stairs, and Heero watched from his hiding spot as she escaped up the stairs, stopping to fire three times at the heavyset man and then running again.

The guard went down, two feet from the staircase, and Heero crept out as the girl disappeared on the upstairs landing. Five seconds later, he heard the crash of glass shattering and sighed. Now his mission was ruined. He would never be able to kill the girl he was supposed to, without causing a bigger disturbance and probably being captured.

He gingerly put his weight on his wounded leg, cursing silently at the small bloodstain on the white rug. Ignoring the pain, he moved quickly across the room to the basement stairs, ready to escape. Someone shouted from the other side of the room, but he moved quickly and vanished into the shadows before they could catch up or fire on him. He tied a sock tightly around his leg above the wound, to stop the bleeding, and then proceeded to run to the rendezvous point, cursing quietly but forcefully all the way.

- - - End Flashback - - -

Heero absently rubbed the bandage on his leg with a finger as he remembered the trip back. He was so ashamed of his utter failure. It would probably be a while before he would be trusted with another assignment. He still had well over two days to spend in the Pit. His leg was bothering him in the cramped space.

If he ever saw that girl again… Heero had a lot to pay her back for. If he closed his eyes, he could still remember what she looked like in the dim, white moonlight. She had very long hair that might have been either dark blonde or brown, and a small, slightly turned-up nose, which now had a scratch on it. He didn't know what her eyes looked like, because she had been wearing heavy, dark-rimmed glasses. But he knew enough. If he ever saw her again, he would know.

And she would pay.

- - - - - - - - - -

A/N: What do you people think of this fic? Love it? Hate it? Wish I'd not even thought of it at all? I want constructive criticism. But don't be too mean, I'm fragile. (.) Please, be honest. And I wish I had a beta reader, but I don't, so I have to check myself. Should I try and find one? Leave a review. And it's on to chapter five…


	5. Tristan Blume, Representative

A/N: It's been a long wait. My formal excuse is that I had to wait for my new beta reader, Angel applause and cheering, to catch up to me. But here is Chapter 5, and the first four chappies have also been revised. Enjoy, and blame her for any mistakes.

Disclaimer: For Christmas, I asked Santa Claus for a complete set of Gundam pilots, or if that was too much trouble, just Heero and Duo. Santa coughed loudly, muttered something about copyright infringement and unlawful confinement, and gave me a CD instead.

Deadly Beautiful - Chapter 5

By danse

- - -

Trowa whistled softly as he walked down the corridor of the secret Mediterranean base. The hollow sound of his footsteps mixed with the tune he was whistling to create a deafening and haunting echo that reverberated off of the stainless steel walls endlessly. He ignored it, and nodded a greeting at another agent who passed him, carrying a briefcase and an armload of file folders.

Trowa had been called to go meet S in his office. He would probably be given a new assignment. It had been three weeks since he'd last had one, and he was looking forward to it. He increased his pace a bit and started whistling a little louder.

S was probably best described, and most politely, as odd-looking. He had a long head, crowned with spiky gray hair. His ears stuck out a bit. Most noticeable, though, was his nose--or rather, the thing that covered it. S insisted on wearing an absurdly large, black, fake nose that was strapped to his face so that you could see the strings. Once, when he was younger, Trowa had asked him why. S had looked at him cryptically and replied that the nose is a person's most distinguishing feature, because it sticks out the most and is hard to alter. If he wore the fake nose all the time, then if he ever needed a disguise, he could simply take it off and no one would be the wiser.

Other agents whispered that he really had no nose, for it had been cut off as a form of torture, or because he had leprosy. Trowa didn't really care, and suspected that it was none of his business anyway, but he didn't really believe any of the stories.

Trowa pushed open the heavy steel door that led to S' office, smiling nervously at Catherine behind the desk, who waved him through without looking up from her paperwork. There was a security monitor on her desk with a lovely view of the hallway outside the office door.

He couldn't help but notice the viciously low cut neckline of her white silk tank top as he walked by. A silver necklace with an amethyst pendant rested against her skin, just above the curve of her breasts. He swallowed hard and trained his eyes on the door in front of him. They hadn't seen each other at all in the three days since their encounter in the Playroom. He wasn't sure if he liked it that way or not, as the images of the shirt she was wearing and of her tigress-like grace with the throwing knives superimposed themselves on each other in his mind.

With a start, he realized that his hand was resting on the door handle to the inner office, without any prior consent from his brain. He pushed the heavy door open to reveal S, eating a submarine sandwich at his desk. The older man's eyes widened and he looked at his watch while still holding his sandwich in the other hand. "Look at the time," he said as he cleared away his food into a desk drawer. "You're early."

"Am I?" Trowa shrugged and sat down in one of the two wooden, cloth-upholstered chairs in front of the desk.

"Well, right to it, then." S got up and crossed to a gray filing cabinet, opened the second drawer from the top, rifled through the files, and at last removed a thick one. He brought it back and opened it as he sat down. "This mission is undercover reconnaissance." He removed a glossy blue brochure from the folder and pushed it across the desk for Trowa's inspection.

Trowa studied the brochure, then looked up at S through his long, brown bangs. "A LOPEN conference?" he asked. The League of Petroleum Exporting Nations, which included countries in the Middle East, South America, Asia, and Africa, was a conglomerate of oil producers that greatly influenced the price of oil on the world markets. A few oil shortages in the past had been caused by LOPEN, and the member countries knew just how much sway they held in a world dependent upon fossil fuels. Every two years, they held a conference to be attended by delegates of all of the member countries, who gathered to discuss the future of the industry and the organization's plans for the next two years. The brochure declared that this year's conference was to be held at the Royal Arabian Hilton in the city of Hofuf, Saudi Arabia.

S nodded and removed some photos from the manila folder. "These," he said as he handed Trowa the pictures, "are the people who I want you to keep an eye on. They are all very rich, very politically powerful, and very important to my purposes. Collectively, I imagine that they control five to seven percent of the world's wealth. Not that I want to scare you or anything."

Trowa raised his eyebrows and nodded slowly as he examined the pictures. There were ten of them, and they were all men. Mostly they all looked the same: old and portly, with bushy dark hair and mustaches. One of them, however, stood out. He was young, possibly in his early twenties, and clean-shaven. His most peculiar feature was his eyebrows; they were forked at the ends like a demon's might be. He stared at the picture for a moment, and then held it up for S to see. "Who's this?" he asked.

S squinted at the photograph, then nodded. "That's Treize Kushrenada. He's fairly new to the political scene. I'm not too sure what…" he trailed off, distracted, and consulted his filing cabinet again. He came back to the desk a minute later with another file folder. Flipping it open, he started reading a report with a smaller photo of Kushrenada stapled to the front. "Ah," he said after scanning the page. "It says here that he is an emissary of the Romefeller Corporation, hired from university two years ago. He's twenty-four." He looked up from the profile and contemplated Trowa. "Probably at the conference to do some business dealings. With all that going on, hobnobbing, window-shopping, and making partnerships on behalf of the company. Very important to business."

Trowa nodded and tossed the pile of photos back on the desk. "So what's my cover?" He needed to play a part, to keep suspicion away from him.

"You'll be doing much the same thing as Mr. Kushrenada," S replied, digging through the rather thick LOPEN folder some more. Finally he found what he was looking for: a passport, an identification card, and a security pass meant to clip to a jacket. All of them bore Trowa's picture and the name 'Tristan Blume.' S handed him a pad of blank paper and a pen, and after two practice tries, Trowa signed a piece of paper with the name Tristan Blume, and then signed the passport. The signature would have to be scanned from the paper onto the ID and security pass, which would be done later, before he left.

S smiled with satisfaction and cleared the articles away, and then showed Trowa a business card. It was plain white, and the neat blue type said:

Cinq Enterprises, Inc.

Tristan Blume,

Representative

"Cinq Enterprises exists on paper," S said, "so that should be enough to throw the curious off of your trail for as long as you need. The company has interests in plastic, hence the need for a secure oil partnership." He leaned back in his black swivel chair and stretched out his arms. "You'll be shaking hands and kissing asses, and don't forget to hand out those business cards. Behave yourself and try to act refined. It's an upper-class crowd. Make a lot of chit-chat and listen to conversations; you're looking for references to a large upcoming merger that probably won't be directly named, as well as just about anything these ten men," he gestured at the skewed pile of photographs, "will have reason to talk to each other about."

"I'll provide you with voice recorders and such to use. Dump the info at night onto the laptop you'll be issued and encrypt the file before you send it, via satellite, to the base." S sat up and leaned forward a little. "If you can find a way to bring back a hard copy of any reports or invoices that might be of interest to the mission, do it. Remember above all, though, that your cover must remain intact. I want no risks of your life or your security, as you are wont to take, Mr. Barton. Please use some discretion this time."

Silence draped itself like a comfortable friend on the shoulders of the two men for a while. Trowa suddenly realized that he was dismissed, and got up slowly to leave. S obviously didn't really trust him to lay low and just do the job. The man didn't understand that the risks Trowa took were for the sake of the mission, and were always calculated.

The office door shut with a soft click behind him, and Trowa was left standing alone, in the empty corridor. Today was April 14th. _Four days…_

_- - -_

A/N: I finally told you what time of year it was! cough It's almost exam time, and it'll be a while before I can sit down to write chapter six. Hopefully, it won't take as long as this chapter took me. Want a preview? It's about Trowa's adventures at the LOPEN conference, and he meets yet another main character there. I won't say who it is, but this story's outline has resembled that of the series in the past several chapters… Meet us here next time for chapter six, same bat-time, same bat-channel.


	6. Don't Forget to Mingle

A/N: Here we go again. More Trowa. Some plot advancement. Please review, because I love reviews. Feedback makes the story better.

Disclaimer: If I had a boyfriend, the sure way to my heart on Valentine's Day would be to give me sole ownership of Gundam Wing. Unfortunately, I don't have a boyfriend. I don't own Gundam Wing, either. I'm not even making any money off of this.

Deadly Beautiful - Chapter 6

By danse

- - -

Trowa straightened his suit jacket nervously as he approached the gigantic double doors that led to the banquet hall of the Royal Arabian Hilton. Two bored, but well-armed Saudi security guards leaned against white-and-pink marble pillars on either side of the doorway, ready to check security passes on their computer as conference attendees arrived. Neither one was paying attention to him, as they were both currently engaged in a conversation meant to pass the time.

Neither guard saw the young man in the navy suit stop momentarily, to take a deep breath and briefly clasp his security pass like a good luck charm, before he continued to the door. When he got close enough for them to see the whites of his eyes, they stopped talking and smiled tolerantly at him while he came closer. He stopped when he reached them, and one of the guards, whose nametag said Hassan, used a device that looked like a grocery store UPC scanner to scan the bar code of the pass on his lapel.

Trowa sweated bullets while the scanner hummed, half expecting to be caught with the false pass and having to answer for it. The computer seemed to take forever to analyze the code, and he got increasingly nervous every second. Finally, it beeped happily and a reproduction of the pass showed up on the computer screen, displaying his unsmiling face and scribbled signature.

"Have a good day, Mr. Blume." Hassan smiled and gestured through the doorway for Trowa. Trowa sighed inaudibly with relief and followed the outstretched arm through the door, passing through the metal detector unhindered, since he wasn't armed. Of course it had worked; it always worked. S paid highly trained experts to create these things. He never had a reason to worry. But he invariably did, anyway.

He walked inside the hall and had to stop and stare at the opulence. The walls were a soft pink and covered in large, gilt-framed oil paintings of deserts and sixteenth-century Europeans who looked pale and austere. Rich tapestries adorned a few places. The cavernous room was big enough to hold five hundred people, seated, and had a vaulted ceiling supported by ten marble pillars, swirled with pink and white like the ones outside. He saw angels painted on the ceiling, dancing around the tops of the pillars in painted beams of glimmering golden light. It was mind-boggling.

Finally, he realized that gawking at the decor was not part of the impression he wanted to make, so he made his way through crowds of dignitaries to the clusters of round tables draped with pink tablecloths, checking the nameplates for his own. He found it in the corner to the right of the door, and pulled out his chair to set his briefcase on. That done, he looked to see whom he would be sitting with. _Treize Kushrenada, Abdul Mohabi, Dekim Barton, and… Trowa Barton!_ His elation at being seated at Kushrenada's table was lost in confusion and panic. His heart thumped in his chest and he fought the urge to hyperventilate. Was this some kind of joke?

He moved his briefcase off of his chair quickly and sat down with his face in his hands, elbows propped on the table, trying to keep control. He had felt nervous all day, and this was the last straw. A few moments later, when he felt calmer, he got up smoothly and promptly started acting like nothing had happened. If anyone had been watching, his normal behaviour would probably make the observer wonder if they'd actually seen him panicking. Eventually, they would forget what they had seen.

Trowa checked to make sure that there were business cards in the pocket of his jacket, then made his way purposefully towards the nearest group of men. He then started working on his façade as a representative of Cinq Enterprises, Incorporated.

At supper that night, Trowa found himself sitting at the pink table, face-to-face with the other four men for the first time. Treize sat on his left side, and the man called Trowa Barton was seated at his right. He was tall and powerfully built, with shaggy, untamable blond hair and sideburns. Dekim Barton looked like an older, wiser version of his son, and was currently chatting amiably with Kushrenada and Mohabi, who was a dark-complexioned, good-natured Saudi Arabian oil magnate.

The younger Barton leaned over towards Trowa and whispered conspiratorially, "So what are you in for?"

Trowa smiled thinly and offered his right hand. "I'm Tristan Blume, and I'm here to do some business for Cinq Enterprises."

The other man looked impressed as he shook the proffered hand. "I'm Trowa Barton," he said amiably. "You look pretty young to be here with these bigwigs," he mused. "You must be pretty smart."

Trowa, who had already surmised the extent of this man's intelligence and personality, waved away the compliment and replied that he hadn't been in the business for very long, and that this was a low-risk venture probably meant to keep him occupied and away from the office for a while. He got the expected response: a laugh and a patronizing wink.

"You're one of the most interesting people I've ever met, Tristan," the older Trowa said with a soft chuckle. "Wise beyond your years. How old are you, anyway?"

"I'm eighteen," Trowa lied smoothly, missing the true mark by about two years. "I've been working for Cinq for about six months, now."

The blond Trowa nodded thoughtfully, and they continued their conversation for another twenty minutes over a meal of steak and lobster. 'Tristan' became somewhat engrossed in talking to the man who shared his name, and never noticed the strange, almost calculating looks that Treize Kushrenada gave him every few minutes, as if he could tell that something wasn't quite right with the boy who sat next to him.

- - -

It was nearly two-thirty in the morning when Trowa wandered sleepily up to his hotel room. After a few aggravating minutes of trying to get his keycard to fit in the slot on the door, the reader beeped obligingly and let him inside. He stumbled in, shut the door with a foot, dropped his briefcase, and flopped facedown onto the bed in his slightly rumpled suit.

He nearly fell asleep in that position, but he eventually forced himself to sit upright and slapped his cheeks lightly to stay awake. He loosened his tie and took off the jacket and shoes, then crawled to the edge of the bed to get at his luggage, which had been left there by a helpful bellboy earlier.

He picked up the silver case that held his laptop and took it out onto the small, private terrace through the back door of his room, flipping on the outside light as he went. There was just enough space on the terrace for a table and two chairs, and he pulled one out and sat down. He entered the combination on the latch of the case, popped open the lid, and within five minutes had the computer set up, with a wire trailing to the mini satellite receiver that was now attached to the terrace railing.

He sat and contemplated the empty 'Compose' window that hovered on the screen, trying to collect his scattered, sleepy thoughts. Finally, he typed the date and local time, and continued on to say that he had no useful information yet, but he had made an acquaintance with a prominent figure at the conference (he thought for a moment, then decided against revealing Trowa's name), and that the steak was excellent. More news would follow the next evening. Satisfied, he ran the encryption program, to be followed by the satellite transmission of the data, and leaned on the railing to look at the view while he waited.

He felt calm and happy as he stared at the moonlit desert stretching into the distance, while the cool night breeze ruffled his long bangs. The Hilton was on the outskirts of Hofuf, and the city stretched away from the other side of the hotel, so he had the wonders of nature all to himself. He sighed with happiness, forgetting himself and his mission for a moment, and then sighed for an entirely different reason when the laptop beeped to announce that it was done transmitting the message.

He packed up the apparatus and went back inside his room, happy that he could finally go to bed. The other Trowa had insisted on buying him a drink at the hotel bar after the conference let out, and that had turned into two, while the elder Trowa talked about himself for a few hours. 'Tristan' had listened attentively, waiting for information that would be useful to his mission. He'd gotten almost nothing for all of his patience, except the other man's trust and more respect, which he hoped would amount to something useful eventually.

He vividly remembered one specific part of the conversation, though. It might have been the only potentially useful information he'd acquired, or it might have just been the other man's alcohol-sodden imaginings, made real by the telling.

'I've got something to show you. I've never shown it to anyone else before.' The blond Trowa pulled his wallet out of his pocket and removed a folded photograph, creased and worn. It showed a pretty young blonde woman and a happy little girl with flaming red hair.

He pointed at the girl. 'That's my niece, Mariemaia. Her mother--my sister--died a few years ago, in an earthquake. Marie was with her, and we thought she'd died for sure, 'cause she was so small, but she didn't. She survived.' He smiled wistfully, and looked at the young man with wild brown hair in front of him proudly. 'She survived, because she's strong. There's going to be a war, soon, and after it's over, Marie's going to be the one who picks up the pieces. She's going to lead us all. It's a promise we made.'

It was amazing, what enough liquor could do to loosen lips. Trowa wasn't sure what to do with this strange revelation just yet, and he thought that the safest course of action would be to keep the news to himself until he could confirm that it was true.

Smothering a jaw-cracking yawn with his hand, Trowa undressed and fell into bed for the last time that night.

- - -

Trowa woke up sometime between eight-thirty and nine the next morning, sitting at the familiar round table with a plate of scrambled eggs and waffles in front of him. He couldn't remember dressing in his grey suit, or going down six floors in the elevator and passing the security checkpoint outside the banquet hall doors. He felt a bit sheepish, but quickly covered it up by digging into his breakfast. The other four men talked among themselves, unconcerned.

After his plate was clean, he had a few minutes to digest, as a lot of the people in the hall were still eating. He used the time to discreetly look around the hall some more from his seat. Now that he was used to the extravagant appearance, he could look at some of the minor details that were important only to those with nefarious purposes.

He noted the head table with its podium and slide projector screen, as well as the booths that were set up against the wall opposite the main doors, housing exhibits and companies. However, he was far more interested in the permanent features of the room, mostly the ones that could supply an escape route, should he need it. Besides the large main doors, there were three fire exits, one in each of the other three walls. A fire alarm was posted next to each door, as well as fire extinguishers. The closest of those doors was about ten yards from where he sat.

The walls were twenty feet high, and near where they met the ceiling, several vents were spaced evenly around the entire hall, painted the same shade of pink as the walls to make them inconspicuous. They were impossible to use for escape, though, unless one was capable of climbing up smooth, sheer surfaces without attracting attention.

Trowa frowned and looked back down at the table, just in time to catch Treize staring at him. Treize looked like he was about to say something, but evidently decided to let it be, because Mohabi was talking in his other ear.

Evidently, Trowa could have picked a better time to inspect his surroundings. He cursed himself inwardly for acting suspiciously near one of his targets, and breathed a great deal easier when someone stood up at the large head table to speak at the podium. The grey-haired man droned on for a few minutes, and when he was done, everybody clapped and then started to get up and move around. Trowa hadn't been paying attention to the address, and had no idea what was going on. Treize gave him a meaningful look and indicated the now-crowded booths with a nod of his head before walking away. Apparently, it was time to do business.

Trowa spent the afternoon wandering around the maze of booths, stopping to watch a few demonstrations, handing out some business cards, and mostly, trying to eavesdrop on the other delegates' conversations. Every once in a while, he would hear a few words that would set off warning bells in his head, but they would all turn out to be false alarms.

He was getting a bit frustrated and very tired by dinnertime, when he thought he heard the word, "merger," coming from somewhere to his left. The voice was masculine and sounded familiar. Pretending to be interested in the oil refinery cross-section at a booth nearby, he stood as inconspicuously as possible next to three men who were talking in subdued voices. As he picked up a glossy pamphlet and flipped through it, he discreetly checked the faces of the three men. Treize, whose back was to Trowa, was talking to Dekim Barton and another man who Trowa recognized from the photos.

Trowa pretended to scratch his chest while he turned on the tiny voice recorder hidden in his inside pocket. Trying to act natural, he stood and leafed innocently through pamphlets as he listened to their conversation.

"…be extremely beneficial for both parties if it goes through," Dekim was saying to Treize.

"I agree with you entirely, Dekim," Treize answered quietly. None of the men seemed to notice the young man standing barely three feet behind Treize, who was only half reading the brochure in his hands. "I believe that the unity of Romefeller and OZ will be the catalyst of a new age for mankind," he continued with a note of triumph.

The other man nodded and added, "I hear from my connections that the development of the Zodiac Militia is already beginning, on paper. That news makes me think that the merger is more than a sure thing…" He trailed off with a smile that the recorder could never hope to relate.

Figuring that he had heard enough to keep S busy, and feeling that he would be caught by Treize any moment, Trowa put down his small pile of brochures and wandered away. Absently, he scratched his chest just behind his lapel again, deftly turning off the voice recorder. There was one more full day of the conference left, and he finally had something to work with. He checked his gold-plated watch. There was still half an hour until dinner, and then another two hours of socializing before he could go back to his room and file his evening report. Hopefully, the other Trowa wouldn't keep him up again--he already felt tired enough to sleep for days.

- - - - - - - - - -

A/N: …And here's the info I didn't put at the head of the chapter. This chapter was hard to write, and ended up being as long as the entire fic thus far. Therefore, I split it in half. This makes for good news and not-so-wonderful news. First, the good: I'm a chapter ahead of myself. Hopefully, I can keep that up and there will be no more of this 'posting once a month' crap. The not-so-wonderful: You're going to get a total of 4 chapters before we take it back to Duo's story. All Trowa, all the time. Actually, Chapter 8 will be a different POV…but that's as much as you need to know right now. (Actually, it's all going according to plan: the timeline is chronological, and it will be a week later when we get back to Duo. He's biding his time, waiting for us to get back to him.)

Important: I'm going to try to follow an update schedule from now on. I'll post new chapters every two weeks, on Sunday. The next chapter will come two weeks after next Sunday, on March 9th. I need the time. Please be patient, and we'll see you on the 9th!


	7. A Stupid Risk

A/N: Jesus christ, I'm a day late. /fumes/ It's not my fault! My computer had worms, and it just got home from the computer shop today. The next part will be on time. Two weeks. This is the second half of the once-monolithic chapter six. Warnings: Death of a minor character, and a lack of concern about it from a major character. Yep. Images of blood. That's all. Enjoy, and be sure to comment.

Disclaimer: I was surfing the internet, and I found a link on a search engine that said, 'Buy Gundam Wing on E-Bay.' Naturally, I got excited at the prospect of finally owning the rights to the series, so I clicked it and got ready to bid. It turned out that the auction was for an artbook. Long story short, I still do not own Gundam Wing or any of its parts that I've used in this story. I'm not making any money, either.

Deadly Beautiful - Chapter 7

By danse

- - -

Shortly after midnight, Trowa was back on the balcony of his hotel room, waiting for his mission update to beam its way from the laptop's satellite receiver to the large, black dish nestled in the Mediterranean hills. He hoped that S would know what the voices on the recorder were talking about, because he didn't. He felt sure that the two-minute sound byte he was sending would mean a highly successful mission, even if he got nothing else. Any other agents in his boss' employ would be satisfied with that, and enjoy themselves for the rest of the trip.

That was where the difference lay, between Trowa and the other agents.

He intended to get as much information as possible. His ultimate hope was to obtain a report or an invoice, something on paper, to take back to the base with him. He had hidden a small handgun inside the pot of a fake plant, down in the hotel lobby, on the night that he'd arrived in Hofuf. It was there in case of an emergency, in case he needed to take the kind of risk that S had warned him against, to get what he wanted.

Trowa admired the almost-full moon that hung in the sky outside, stretched his arms lazily, and went inside to get some sleep.

At ten o'clock in the morning on April 20th, Trowa was lingering near Dekim Barton and two of the men on his target list. The three men were having a very interesting conversation that contained a lot of references to the 'OZ' group that he'd heard about the day before, and he made sure to record what they were saying.

He was being a little cleverer, that day; he supposed it was because of the extra sleep he'd gotten. That morning, before he put on his jacket, he had put a digital voice recorder, which was small enough to fit in his palm, inside the breast pocket of his dress shirt. Next, he ran a tiny microphone attached to a thin wire through his sleeve, to be tucked underneath his watchband. Now he stood with his back to his targets, watching a slide show being conducted against the far wall, with his hands held casually behind his back. The end of the mini microphone peeped out from beneath his watchband, aimed directly towards the conversation.

He still listened to what was being said, hoping to hear something that he could use to find some hard evidence before he left. It was difficult to divide his attention between what went on behind him and what went on in front of him, but he managed, and was repaid when he heard, "…Last month's status reports are waiting in the Rose Office for you, if you want to get them after dinner."

His eyes widened a little, but he quickly calmed his expression, even though his mind still raced. The Rose Office was one of six rooms that the hotel thoughtfully supplied to businessmen, for a fee. The rooms were small offices, containing fax machines, photocopiers, and computers with Internet access, as well as printers, telephones, and any other office supply one could need. If he could get away from the banquet hall long enough to photocopy the reports… But how could he do it without looking suspicious? He felt sure that Treize thought something wasn't right; if he left, he would attract too much attention from the Romefeller representative. Also, the Rose Office was almost a five-minute jog away, on the third floor of the hotel.

After a few tense minutes of deliberation, he decided to wait for a while, to see what opportunities presented themselves. He went back to looking at the slide show, ignoring the conversation behind him. Eventually, he slid into a dreamy haze; hands still behind his back, he watched the colours of the slides blur and separate. Suddenly, Treize walked by in front of him, and stopped just long enough to give Trowa a venomous glare that seemed to say, _Watch it, because I know you've got a secret, and I'm going to figure it out_. Trowa jumped with surprise and the slides focused again. He looked around quickly, but Treize was gone. He shivered and tugged his sleeve down over the microphone, feeling for a moment more like a sixteen-year-old with insecurities than a perfect super-agent.

After lunch, there were speeches. The conference attendees sat at their round, pink tables and listened with interest, then clapped politely as each speaker stepped down from the podium. Trowa was incredibly bored, and apparently so was the burly blond man who sat beside him.

"Hey, Tristan," the elder Trowa Barton murmured after a speech by a Malaysian woman. "My pop's up next."

'Tristan' raised his eyebrows in feigned interest, and watched as Dekim Barton stood up and made his way to the podium with cue cards in hand. He was a talented speaker, and his speech was a long, but interesting, address on the future of the oil industry, and how the supply and environmentally concerned developments, as well as the ever-growing issue of world conflict, would affect it. He spoke at length about tension in the Middle East and other oil-producing countries, as well as the possibility of a third World War and its possible effects on technology, politics and economics. Dekim's son listened reverently to every word, and as he glanced at the man occasionally, Trowa was reminded of his drunken words from two nights before. _There's going to be a war, soon, and after it's over, Marie's going to be the one who picks up the pieces. She's going to lead us all. It's a promise we made…_

Suddenly, Dekim's speech was finished, and the audience clapped. His son stood up and clapped loudly, obviously very proud of his father. A few other people followed suit, but none at Trowa's table. Dekim said a quick, 'Thank you,' into the microphone, but the last syllable was barely out of his mouth when a gunshot echoed through the room.

Several people gasped, and a few screamed, as the whole room erupted into pandemonium. Trowa, still in his seat, was pale and sweating as he stared at the scene before him. The enthusiastic twenty-five-year-old man who had just been standing beside him, clapping loudly, was now sprawled on his back on the floor. His eyes stared lifelessly at the ceiling and his mouth was frozen in a grin, as the rapidly spreading pool of blood from his temple stained his blond hair.

Everybody else in the hall seemed to find the victim at the same time. A rush of people crowded around Trowa as he stood up and backed away. He quickly slipped through the crowd, looking for a clear path along the wall. As he made his way to the fire exit, he swiftly scanned the wall that had been on his left earlier. He spied what he was looking for almost immediately, because he _was_ looking for it; one of the slats of the vent cover near the ceiling was bent to the side, leaving just enough room for the barrel of a gun to poke through. His curiosity satisfied, he opened the fire door and left the hall, breaking into a run as he went looking for a particular potted plant in the lobby.

When he was armed with the gun he'd hidden, he remembered the equipment in his room. It would be difficult to retrieve after he got the reports, but he couldn't leave it behind; it was expensive and might blow the cover of S' operation if discovered. He made a fast decision and started running up the elaborate flights of stairs that led to the sixth floor, ignoring the elevator in case it wasn't running.

Seven minutes later, he was standing in front of his door, gasping for breath as he fumbled with his key card. The instant the reader beeped, he was inside his room. He grabbed the silver laptop case from beside his bed and left as quickly as he had come. The suitcase that held his clothes could be abandoned.

Trowa raced down the stairs again, ignoring the occasional painful whack of the heavy silver case against his leg as he ran. When he reached the third floor landing, he ripped open the wood-paneled door that led to the rooms and ran down the hallway, with the case in one hand and his gun in the other. He almost ran past the Rose Office, and had to backpedal a few steps. It had a wooden door like the rest of the rooms, engraved with a stylized rose where the number plate usually belonged.

He tried the doorknob. It was locked. Of course, he didn't have the keycard for this office. He cursed himself for not remembering that earlier, and glared at the card reader as he wondered what he should do. Finally, he gave in to impatience and simplicity, and brought the butt of the gun down hard on the seam where the reader's casing held together. Two more hits made it crack, and he ripped the front off, exposing wires and circuits. _So much for not leaving a trace,_ he thought as he examined the electronic innards. After a moment of studying it, he ripped out the ends of a green wire and an orange one, and twisted the bare metal ends together. The reader buzzed and a spark nearly hit his tie, but the door popped open. His quick movement blew a tiny wisp of smoke away as he dashed inside.

Where are the reports? He thought a little frantically. The office was small and crammed with equipment. Two desks were covered with stacks of paper, and he dove in with both hands, resting the gun on top of a pile of books. A few minutes of frenzied digging later, he came up with two bound reports, each a quarter of an inch thick, that said _Zodiac Project--Confidential_ on the front. Grinning like an idiot, he stuffed the papers inside his silver case, grabbed his gun, and left the room again.

He thought a little frantically. The office was small and crammed with equipment. Two desks were covered with stacks of paper, and he dove in with both hands, resting the gun on top of a pile of books. A few minutes of frenzied digging later, he came up with two bound reports, each a quarter of an inch thick, that said on the front. Grinning like an idiot, he stuffed the papers inside his silver case, grabbed his gun, and left the room again. 

He stood in the hallway indecisively for a second, wondering where to go. The faint sound of voices echoing from the direction he'd come convinced him that he should try the other direction. As he ran, he wondered if it was Treize following him, or hotel security attracted either by the noise or his security breach, the evidence of which was still smoking and had obviously sparked some more since he'd entered the office.

The voices got louder and more numerous, accompanied by footsteps, as he ran down the hallway. Eventually, he reached a door that led to a service corridor, and he turned sharply without reducing his speed, careening a little dangerously through the door and pushing it shut behind him. The service corridor was a bit dingy, with old white-tiled floors and pot lights overhead that spilled yellow pools onto the dim floor. Many more doors opened off of it, and some other service halls branched off of it. Trowa turned and ran down a few randomly, trying to evade whoever was following him, and getting more lost in the process. He heard the faint sound of doors opening behind him, and the voices continued to follow.

The footsteps receded for a while, and then returned suddenly, louder than before, as he ran. Trowa stopped and turned around, peering through the poorly-lit hallway behind him. He saw the glow of flashlights sweeping the corridor, three hundred yards back. He turned around to face where he'd been running; he saw a twin glow there, a little farther away. There was a metal door in the wall just to his left; he tried it, but it was locked. He butted it with his shoulder a few times, but it didn't budge. He was screwed.

He sighed, and not knowing what to do, only feeling very tired, he sank down on the floor and leaned his head against the wall. If he closed his eyes, he could picture S yelling at him for taking a stupid risk. Except that chances were good that S would never get the chance to yell at him. There were six bullets in his gun, plus one more clip that he'd put in the inside pocket of his jacket. There were at least twice as many people approaching him from both sides. He opened his eyes with a sigh and stared at the ceiling. There was a pot light shining directly above him, and it hurt to look at, so he averted his gaze…and it landed on a vent in the ceiling. His eyes widened in surprise and hope. He could use it to escape, if he moved fast.

He got up from the floor and stood under the vent. He was tall, and the ceiling in the corridor was low enough that he could reach the vent cover without stretching too much. Keeping the gun in one hand, he put his fingers through the slats of the cover and yanked. He was rewarded with a shower of dust that got in his mouth. Spitting, he yanked again, and the whole cover came off with a loud screech and some pieces of the ceiling. He dropped the cover on the floor and noticed that his hands were cut from the sharp metal edges. Dust got in them and stung, but he thought that cut fingers were better than bullets in his body. The guards were about one hundred and fifty yards away and had started running. Trowa swung the silver case up into the ventilation shaft with a clang, and got ready to hoist himself up. He put his hands on the inside edges of the shaft, standing on his toes, but just then, the locked door sprang open, nearly hitting him in the narrow corridor.

Trowa stared in surprise at the teenage boy who stood in the doorway, who looked startled and carried a sniper rifle slung over his shoulder. He had light blond hair and bluish-green eyes, and was dressed entirely in black. In less time than it took to blink, they both had their guns drawn (the blond boy was carrying a handgun as well) and stared tensely at each other, and the approaching guards, in turn.

Great, now what? Trowa thought tiredly. He heard yelling behind him, and saw some of the rapidly-approaching men in front draw their guns. _What a successful mission…_

Trowa thought tiredly. He heard yelling behind him, and saw some of the rapidly-approaching men in front draw their guns. 

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A/N: Successful, indeed. I'm working on the next chapter right now. It will be on time. How many lurkers do I have here? Stand up and show your faces! Leave a review! Please?


	8. For Now, We Fight

A/N: If you're following this story, please leave a review (I don't care if you just say hi). I want to know how many people are reading this. Not that I'll stop; I just want to know. If you do, thanks.

Disclaimer: Until I take over the world or buy out Bandai/Sotsu and their constituents, I do not own Gundam Wing, the rights to it, or anything encompassed therein. I am making no money off of this endeavour.

Deadly Beautiful - Chapter 8

By danse

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Quatre Raberba Winner ran down a spacious hallway of the Hilton with a rifle slung over his shoulder, weaving around corners randomly, trying to elude his followers. He left them behind a turn and increased his speed, moving so fast that he thought his legs would fall off, as he watched behind him to make sure they were gone. When he looked ahead again, he cursed. The hallway was a dead end. Except for the single pink-painted steel door at the very end. Hopefully it wasn't locked. He reached out and grabbed the doorknob. It turned easily, and he hardly slowed down before barreling into the hallway beyond.

One of the last things that he expected to see was a young man with strange brown hair, about to boost himself into a hole in the ceiling. Quatre froze in surprise, stopping dead in his tracks, and saw the other boy get a deer-in-the-headlights look. Shutting down his confused conscious brain and relying on his instincts, Quatre whipped out his ever-present handgun and pointed it at the stranger, who copied his movements like a mirror.

A shout from his left attracted his attention, and Quatre glanced to the side, and then did a horrified double take. There were ten or twelve armed men coming steadily closer. A glance to his right revealed a dozen more. He tightened his grip on his gun as he watched his nervous opponent and the guards in turn, while the two of them circled each other like predators. He let his thoughts resurface, and knew that this unfortunate person before him was trying to escape, too.

Drawing some fast conclusions and leaping on a whim, Quatre took a deep breath and looked past the other boy's shoulder at the guards, now behind him. Raising his gun a little, he pulled the trigger. He saw the boy flinch, but he didn't move otherwise. Quatre sighed with relief as a guard crumpled, and the other boy looked behind him in confusion.

The boy looked back at Quatre, and surprised green eyes met his own. Their eyes locked, for an unending instant, and a flash of understanding passed between them. With practiced ease, the green-eyed stranger fired past Quatre's shoulder, and a grunt reached his ears as a second guard collapsed. Niceties thus exchanged, they got to work.

Twisting around so that they stood back-to-back, the two young men fired at the advancing groups along the corridor. They were both accurate marksmen, and they picked off the guards like fish in a barrel. Bullets twanged off of the metal door and pockmarked the walls and floor around them. Quatre narrowly missed taking one in the knee by shooting a guard in the hand. While concentrating on his task, he always kept half his attention on what was going on with the stranger at his back, and realized that his companion had run out of bullets before running out of targets. Five men still advanced on that side.

With a sigh, Quatre fired one more shot, changed his clip quickly, cleared his throat to get the stranger's attention, and lobbed the handgun over both of their heads, toward the other's outstretched hands. In a practiced motion, he easily flipped his rifle over his shoulder and started firing it at the remaining four guards on his side. He heard the stranger adjust the gun and take out the last standing men.

When every one of their would-be attackers was dead or lethally injured on the floor, the two young men stretched, sighed, and turned to face each other. The green-eyed boy returned Quatre's gun. "Thanks," he said. His voice was indescribable: deep, but not too deep; expressive, but misleading; melodious and somewhat flat at the same time. It was the kind that you would either forget immediately or remember forever. Quatre liked it.

He slung his rifle back over his shoulder and held out his right hand. "Don't mention it. I'm Quatre."

Green Eyes shook his hand, smiling ever so slightly. "Nice to meet you."

Quatre waited for a name, but was not rewarded. Unshakable, he let it slip and carried on. He looked around the hallway, gaze dancing over the bodies before returning to his mystery acquaintance. "Well, we're both trying to get out of here. Do you have any bright ideas about how to do that?"

Green Eyes raised an eyebrow slightly, and then pointed straight up. Quatre followed the gesture and found himself staring at a rectangular black hole, which was currently blowing cool air on his head. He groaned inwardly. _Not the air ducts again…_ But there was no reasonable alternative that would get them out of the hotel unnoticed. He looked back down. "All right. Do you know where you're going?"

"I was hoping that you could relate some of your knowledge of the air system to me," Green Eyes returned coolly.

Quatre blushed. Of course he knew what was going on. It didn't take a rocket scientist to figure out that he was carrying a sniper rifle for a reason. He suddenly recalled details from earlier that day: after spending twenty minutes crouched in that tiny ventilation shaft, peering through the slats on the vent cover, he'd found his shot. He had waited twenty minutes for it because until the target stood up, the wild brown-haired head of a very bored-looking young man had obscured him. He studied Green Eyes' hair. There couldn't be more than one person on the planet with hair like that. _He was sitting right next to the target…_

"I'm sorry, what did you say?" he asked distractedly.

"I said, 'Shall we?'" Green Eyes pointed back at the hole.

"Oh. Uh, yes. Should I go first?" When his companion nodded yes, Quatre put his hands on the edges of the hole and heaved himself into the shaft. He nearly fell on top of a stainless steel briefcase, but managed to hop over it. He pulled the case away from the opening, and almost immediately the other boy's head appeared in the hole after him, blocking the dim light from below.

The shaft was about two feet high and three feet wide; Quatre was small enough to just fit on hands and knees, but when Green Eyes tried to do it, he bumped his head hard on the ceiling. He laid his forehead down on the metal in front of him, probably trying not to swear loudly. "Where's my briefcase?" he asked in a whisper.

"I have it," Quatre whispered back. The sound echoed down the metal length of the shaft. "I'll carry it, if you want."

There was a pause, then, "All right."

The two teens shuffled forward through the dim tunnel, lit only by the occasional vent cover, which they had to maneuver around so that they didn't knock them out. It was slow, arduous going. Quatre would lift the briefcase each time, move it forward a few feet through the air, and then set it down as gently as possible before shuffling up beside it. Green Eyes crawled behind him. The air around them was cool, and Quatre felt his nose turn icy cold as they went.

After ten minutes, they stopped to take off their shoes, to make less noise. They tied the laces together and slung the shoes around their necks, to keep them out of the way. After that, they continually had to adjust the laces to keep them from digging painfully into their necks, but they were nearly silent.

They took a few turns, and Quatre peered through the slats on the vents to see where they were each time, slowly navigating to the place where he knew they could get out of the building. Twenty minutes later, he stopped suddenly, and Green Eyes nearly ran into his feet. Quatre slowly turned around. He could barely see the outlines of Green Eyes' body in the dim glow from the rooms below, but he found his head and whispered in his ear.

"We're going to go up a vertical shaft now," he whispered softly. "We'll come out on the roof. We're going to go barefoot, bracing against one side and walking up the other." He stopped to fish a climber's clip from his belt, and put it in the other teen's hand. "Take your case and hook it into your belt with this. We must be as quiet as possible. Do you understand?"

Quatre heard a faint, but unmistakable 'yes,' and smiled in the dark. He sat down carefully and took off his socks, stuffing them deep inside his shoes, still around his neck. He took his rifle off of his back and slung it on backwards, so that it hung on his front instead, and edged forward. He knew, from memorizing blueprints, that this part of the shaft was a four-way intersection, with a vertical tunnel rising from the middle. It went up for fifteen feet before curving into a roof shaft. There was a grid at the very end, but he could knock it out.

He made his way into the middle of the intersection and slowly stood up, with one hand held above his head. It encountered nothing, and he stood to his full height, trying not to stagger. His back and legs were so stiff! He found the sides of the shaft around him and oriented himself. After stretching upwards to loosen his muscles a little, he backed up against a cold metal wall, spit on each hand and braced them against the walls on either side of him. Starting with his left foot, he pushed up and placed them against the wall opposite him. The metal felt unpleasantly cold against his feet. His knees were slightly bent, and he walked up the shaft fairly easily, stopping often to let Green Eyes catch up below him.

They progressed quickly and silently, and soon Quatre was at the top. It was the type of vent that rose straight out of the roof for a foot or two, and then curved so that it could catch the breeze. Unfortunately, Quatre was positioned backwards, with the opening behind his head, while the shaft curved up and behind him. He growled in frustration, craning his head upwards as much as he could to look out. All he saw was the shiny metal top of the shaft.

He needed to check the outside before they could get out. What could he do? He braced his feet more comfortably against the opposite wall and used both hands to check his utility belt for anything he could use. Climbers' clips, a pouch with fresh ammunition, a small GPS… his hand closed around a tiny desert survival kit that he always kept handy. He knew exactly what was in it at all times, and he mentally ran through the list: a balloon for holding water, a super light canvas to build a shelter, matches, fire starter, and a tiny mirror for signaling planes with the sun.

His eyes lit up and he put the kit in his lap to fumble for the mirror. His legs were getting tired. He found it and held it out toward his knees, angling it to see outside. He had to raise it and tilt it down, and he saw the upside-down image of an empty rooftop through a grid of wire, shimmering hot in the late afternoon sun. No one was out there, that he could see.

Triumphant, he stowed the tiny mirror away and carefully removed his rifle from his shoulder again. Turning it so that the butt faced him, he held it above his head, braced his feet again, and swung it three times, as hard as he could, at the mesh cover. The mesh bent under his first attack, and then the frame clattered down onto the pebbled roof surface.

Taking a deep breath, Quatre willed himself to succeed at his next maneuver. He edged up the shaft until his head was above the curve of the metal, holding his rifle ready, then flexed his legs, and in one Herculean move, ran up the curve of the shaft, flipped over, and landed on the roof with his upper half still inside the pipe. He pulled his head out and swept the surroundings quickly, looking for hidden assailants. He found one lurking behind a doorway leading to the stairwell. The man was talking on a radio, and didn't see him yet. He raised his rifle and fired once. The radio dropped from a lifeless hand and landed on the rooftop, still squawking.

The talented young sniper ran across the roof, bare feet burning on the hot, rough pebbles, to the radio. As Green Eyes climbed out of the shaft behind him, he sat on the roof and put on his shoes, listening to the squabbling transmission. Green Eyes joined him, with only a glance for the dead man next to them, and put on his own shoes.

Quatre looked up, and blue-green met emerald again, just as electric and vibrantly as before. He gestured with the radio. "This man was the only one up here, so far. Apparently they found the bodies in the hallway. One of them was still alive and described both of us. They're all on their way up here now. They're trying to get a response from their horrible excuse for a lookout. I figure we have ten minutes before we're in it too deep." He dug out the handgun again and returned it to Green Eyes, with his last full clip. "I think you might need this."

Green Eyes accepted the gun. "So where do we go from here?" he asked.

Quatre stood up. The heavy gold light of the late afternoon sun backlit him, limning his features like an angelic halo. He found his GPS and pressed a few particular buttons. His backup group would receive the message and in five minutes, they would bring their helicopter to pick them up. They only had to hold their position for that long. He put the GPS away again, and held out a hand to help Green Eyes stand up. "For now, we fight."

Green Eyes refused the proffered hand, rising easily to his feet. He checked his gun; his once-navy suit was rumpled and dusty. His tie was loosened and a sleeve of his jacket had ripped a bit. He smirked, one visible eye twinkling behind his shock of unruly brown hair. He stuck out his right hand. "My name's Trowa," he said.

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A/N: I'm a major smartass, and I think it shows in my writing sometimes. Next chapter, we go back to Duo. I will finish it faster so that my beta can get it back to me sooner. But first, my article for the school paper! sneaks away


	9. BlueEyed Wildcat

A/N: Cheers for reviews! Jeers to lurkers! Yeah, there will be yaoi (I say slash) and het, and maybe some yuri (femslash) romance. This is the part where you shippers and anti-shippers get your hopes up, because I haven't decided yet what some of the characters' fates will be. I am open to love triangles, but I don't do threesomes. Leave your mark!

PS. Today's Saturday, not Sunday, so I shouldn't be posting yet, but I won't be home at all tomorrow, and it's done now, so here you go.

Disclaimer: I do not claim possession of Gundam Wing or any part of it. I'm not making any money from this work. I own nothing. Except for you. Dance for me, slave!

Deadly Beautiful - Chapter 9

by danse

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Duo huddled inside his black leather overcoat, staring at his feet as he walked down the street. The sidewalk was dark, but artificially lit every ten feet by the golden splash of light from an overhead street lamp. The pavement was far from clean: round, black patches of discarded gum and grubby cigarette butts littered it from curb to storefront. If he looked up, he saw bums crouched in alleyways on his right and hookers peddling their wares on his left. It was rather discouraging scenery, especially if you were already in a less-than-happy mood.

He reached up compulsively to scratch the back of his neck under his tall coat collar. His braid was tucked down the back of his coat to avoid attention, and his hair itched and tickled him as his braid rubbed against his skin. Just behind him, a woman in a pink micro-dress and thigh-high black boots called out a rather obscene suggestion. He ignored it, because activities like that were the last thing he felt like engaging in tonight.

It had been a week since Duo was dismissed from G's office, and he hadn't heard a single word from his employer since then. He had spent the unanticipated vacation lying around his apartment, sleeping, eating, and watching TV. Finally, this afternoon, he had decided that the place was getting unbearably dirty, but instead of cleaning it, he just got dressed and left. _It's cabin fever_, he thought. _I just need to get out and do something._

Doing something had consisted of going to a tiny café for dinner, and wandering the streets until the early hours, waiting for action to present itself. It was currently 1:25 AM, the wee hours of April 21st. With a sigh, he kicked a cigarette butt in his path. It flew through the air for a few feet, and then rolled across the sidewalk. _Why am I here?_ he thought.

"Hey baby! You look lonely." The voice came from among the line of enterprising young women on his left, and he almost ignored her like the rest, but something about her voice caught at his brain. He stopped and looked up, searching along the line for her. His gaze settled on a girl who looked younger than him, clad in low-riding black leather pants, high-heeled boots, and a clingy pink tank top. Her hair was short and almost black, and her eyes were the colour of the summer sky. A fierce, unnamable spark burned in their depths.

Duo's jaw dropped. "You!" he yelled, pointing at her in disbelief. _'Watch where you're going buddy!'_ The same voice that he'd just heard calling him echoed older words in his mind. This was the girl who'd stolen his wallet!

Possibly she'd been in situations like this before, and possibly she hadn't, but the girl's eyes went as wide as the full moon above her, and she paled to the same colour. The prostitutes nearby had started to watch the scene with interest, wondering what was going on and how it would play out. The girl looked around frantically for an escape, then suddenly bolted into the street, narrowly missing cars passing by. Duo was after her immediately, but was brought up short by a blue Pontiac that screeched to a stop almost underneath him.

He vaulted the car's hood and kept running while the driver leaned out of the window and yelled at him. Duo ignored him and ran after the girl, who he saw running half a block ahead of him. She was moving quite fast, considering the size of the heels on her boots. He saw her cut into an alley and put on extra speed, careening around the corner and barreling headfirst into the dark, greasy brick tunnel. He followed her past garbage cans and sleeping bums, breathing a little heavily, and saw her cut left on the other side of the alley, turning and running into another one.

He kept close behind her as they ran like that for four blocks. Finally, he saw her screech to a clumsy halt, brought up short by a ten-foot high wooden fence dividing the narrow alley in half. She whipped around, gasping for breath, and watched helplessly and angrily as Duo caught up and skidded to a stop in front of her, lungs still mostly intact.

The girl backed into the corner slowly, knowing that she couldn't run anymore. "What the hell is your problem?" she growled. Her eyes glowed like embers in the glint from a bonfire near the front of the alley.

Duo approached her slowly. "You stole my wallet."

"No, I didn't. I don't know what you're talking about."

"Yes, you did."

"Prove it." Her chin was set defiantly.

"You ran right into me!" He sighed. "I don't think you're in any position to deny anything right now."

"What're you gonna do?" she asked quickly, tauntingly. "Tell on me?"

"I'll call the cops."

"You've got no evidence." He didn't fail to notice that she was edging very slowly sideways, working her way along the dark wall, waiting for her chance to escape.

He decided to pretend he didn't see it. "I'll take you in to the station because you're a prostitute. The last time I checked, selling your body on the street was illegal."

"I'll be out in the morning." Just then, a cat knocked over a garbage can nearby with a loud clang. Duo jumped at the noise, and she used the chance to bolt.

"Just a minute," he snapped, reaching out to grab her wrist faster than she could blink. She squeaked, yanking on her arm and almost falling.

"Let go!" she yelled, tugging on her arm. He hung on persistently, his grip like iron. She wasn't going to get away that easily.

"I said…fucking…let…GO!" She swung around and kicked him in the shin with the point of her boot. He flinched and swore but wouldn't release her. When she saw that her tactic had failed, she fell to attacking him with her free arm, punching and scratching, hissing and spitting like a wildcat. Several of her blows hurt, but he wouldn't admit it. He just stood there stolidly, grabbing at her other arm with his free hand. After three attempts, he caught it.

With both of her arms securely held, there wasn't much more she could do to damage him. Also, she was tired. After struggling a little more, she gave up, sagging outwardly as she sighed. Still, she glared at him.

Duo was unperturbed. "Now, where were we?" he said calmly.

But this girl was smart, or she wouldn't have survived very long on the street. She evaluated the situation quickly and made a last attempt at saving herself. She put on her best doe eyes, and said in a husky, sensual voice, "Okay, okay. I took your wallet. I'm sorry. Is there any way that I can _possibly_ make it up to you…?" She let the question hang in the air, tantalizingly, as she leaned just a little bit closer, shifting her hips ever so slightly.

She smelled like flowery perfume. Her body radiated heat, and something else that made Duo's brain dance around dizzily. _She's so…No._ He gave himself a mental shake. He was playing right into her hands. That was not good. He pushed her away, without letting go of her, until she was at a comfortable distance again. "I don't think so," he said.

She glared again. "Then what are you doing?" she demanded, her voice wavering just a little.

Her anger and underlying fear burned away all illusions, and he saw her clearly for the first time: her small, undernourished frame; her worn and slightly dirty clothes; the faint trace of a bruise on her cheek, obscured by lots of cheap makeup. He could see the outline of her ribs underneath her shirt when she moved. Her wrists felt frail and weak. "Let me get you something to eat." He was sure he looked a little surprised as he said it; the words had just come out, all by themselves.

If he was surprised, she was shocked. "What?" she said.

"I said, are you hungry?"

She squinted at him, like he was playing a trick on her. "Yes…" she said tentatively.

"Then let's go." Duo turned and, without waiting for an answer, dragged her by the wrist out of the alley. He was pretty sure that there was a diner nearby that he knew, and he needed coffee himself.

- - -

Duo watched with amazement as the girl on the other side of the red vinyl booth ripped into her ham sandwich, looking like she hadn't eaten for several days. He sipped his coffee and waited until she stopped for breath. When she did, he spoke.

"What's your name?"

She glanced at him, then at her food. "People call me Cat," she said.

And she was; he had the scratches to prove it. "What's your _real_ name?"

She gave him a don't-go-there look. He glared right back. He was already sick of her evasiveness. Finally, she broke the glare and sighed. "Hilde," she muttered.

He raised an eyebrow as a shrug. "Pleased to make your acquaintance. I'm Duo. But you probably know my name, since you were the last person who saw my driver's license."

She threw down her sandwich in disgust. "I didn't steal your damn wallet!" she said loudly, attracting a stare from the waitress.

"Yeah, you did. You ran into me on the street a week ago and lifted it." Duo pulled his braid out of the back of his coat and shook it. "Do you recognize this?" he asked.

When she heard his reply and saw his hair, her eyes widened a fraction, but then she ducked her head. "Do you know how many of those performances I do every day?" she mumbled.

"So you do remember. Where's my wallet?"

She fidgeted. He glared; he wanted to know if she still had it, or if she'd sold it. As a man with a shady profession himself, the last thing he felt he needed was someone else masquerading as him. Then she exhaled, long and slowly, and spoke. "I took it and a bunch of others that I'd picked up, and went through them in an alley. All I took was the cash, I swear. Then I threw them all in a dumpster."

He flopped back in his chair, tiredly. At least no one had his ID. He'd have to get a new driver's license, or get one from G's office. He'd already cancelled his bankcard. There hadn't been much else in his wallet, really. Right now, he was spending the emergency cash he'd had hidden in his sock drawer. He could start again; it was just annoying. Anything bearing his real identity that disappeared was a security breach, but his life was probably still safe, for now. If only he knew for sure that he still had a job…

"Do you want anything else?" he asked. She was on her second sandwich and her third orange juice. She swallowed her mouthful and shook her head. "No, thanks."

He called to the waitress for the bill and watched Hilde polish off her food. When she was done, she sat with her fingers laced together on the table in front of her and studied him, as if trying to engrave his face into her memory, or searching for something to say before she left.

"Do you have a place to sleep?" he asked.

"I was staying with a friend…" She trailed off.

"Is it warm?"

She blushed, a surprising thing to see. "Not anymore. We couldn't pay the bills this month. We couldn't afford to pay the rent, either, so we both might be out again soon." She picked at a nail anxiously.

"I have a couch for you to sleep on, if you want. My place has heat, too, and there's nothing else there worth stealing."

She stared at him in surprise again, not angry this time, just curious. "What's your deal?" she asked.

"I'm sorry?"

"Why are you being so nice to me? I stole your wallet, I've never done anything good for you…"

Duo held up a hand to cut her off. "I just felt like doing a good deed," he said honestly. "I don't know why I did it…it just seemed like the right thing to do." He looked at her, grinning a bit. "Well…?"

She bit her lip. "I just feel so guilty, taking advantage of you."

"I'll tell you how you can pay me back. Get on your feet, get a job, and quit stealing from people." The waitress brought the bill, and he paid it, and then stood up. He looked back at Hilde and offered her a hand. After another moment of deliberation, she took it and got up, smiling hesitantly. "All right," he said, leading her out the door. "Let's go."

As the two teens walked side-by-side down the street to Duo's apartment, he noticed that she seemed to feel a little uncomfortable in her clothes. She had her arms crossed over the somewhat revealing neckline of her shirt, and she didn't seem to like the stares she was getting from the men they passed. He'd never noticed that earlier; she'd acted like those clothes were a second skin before.

Eventually, he stopped and took off his coat, draping it over her shoulders. He was wearing a black, long-sleeved shirt underneath it, as well as faded jeans. She gave him a grateful look as she wrapped it around herself. "It's a little cold," she said, blushing.

He had to restrain the urge to give her a comforting hug. "Yeah, the breeze is kinda chilly," he agreed.

She stared up at the brown brick wall of his building as he stopped to unlock the door and let them in the lobby. The building was quiet as they marched up the stairs to his floor. He stopped again in front of the brown door marked '5B,' and turned the key in the lock with practiced quiet. "Home sweet home," he said softly as he opened the door and turned on the light.

He watched as Hilde walked inside, still clutching his coat closed. She stopped and stood in the middle of the front entrance, staring at the open living room before her. There was an empty pizza box and half of a six-pack of coke on the coffee table, and a rumpled blanket lay in a heap on the couch where he'd left it. Duo glared at a dirty sock a few feet away from him, and swooped down to pick it up. "It's a little messy," he said with embarrassment.

"It's warm and dry," she countered. Slowly, she shrugged off the jacket and hung it on the coat rack by the door, and then sat right down on the floor to unzip and yank off her boots. "Ouch," she said as she held the last one in her hands and wiggled her toes painfully. Her socks were pink. "They're a little small, and not built for running." She smiled crookedly, as she placed the boots side-by-side on the floor. "Urrgh." She groaned and stood up slowly. "I'm so tired." Right after saying that, she had to stifle a yawn.

Duo glanced at the clock on the VCR. "It's 2:30," he said. "I'll go get some blankets. You can take a shower if you want. The bathroom's over here…" He pointed at it on his way to the closet.

He heard the shower turn on as he walked back into the living room with sheets and a pillow. After cleaning up the room a bit, he made up a bed on the couch, hoping she wouldn't mind too much that there was a poky spring under the middle cushion.

The shower turned off, and less than two minutes later he heard a muffled "Duo…" coming from the bathroom.

He walked over to the closed bathroom door. "What is it?" he called.

"All I have is these clothes," she said through the door.

"What…oh." Her clothes were dirty, and not really the kind of thing that was comfortable to wear to bed. "Just a minute," he said, and went into his bedroom. He found a clean white t-shirt, and knocked on the bathroom door. Opening it a crack, he put the shirt on the counter and shut the door again.

"Thank you," she said.

Shortly, she emerged, carrying her clothes and wearing Duo's t-shirt over her underwear. It came down almost to her knees. She smiled at him.

"Your bed's ready on the couch," he said. "There's food in the fridge, if you're up before I am in the morning. Help yourself."

She nodded. "I really appreciate…everything."

"It's no problem," he insisted. He watched her silently as she walked down the short hallway to the living room, and decided that she wasn't any older than he was, despite her maturity. He could only imagine what she'd been through.

A yawn crept its way out of his mouth, and he decided that it might be his bedtime, too.

- - - - - - - - - -

A/N: /gasp/ Any Duo/Hilde shippers? Any anti-D/H shippers? A battle to the death, on the review board! I won't tell you which couples have already been decided, because it's more fun for me that way. It will be static throughout the story, anyway. I'll start the next chapter after I do my stupid chemistry homework. Everybody shake your fists in rage at the homework that keeps me from writing the story. Any type of feedback makes me happy and gives me ambition, which is always in short enough supply…


	10. Struck By the Hand of Justice

A/N: My beta reader hasn't sent me back this chapter yet. She's four days past the point of return. I'm impatient by nature, though, and the spelling and grammar isn't bad as it is, so I'm posting this chapter, unedited, until I hear from her. I am also adding titles to the chapters so far, for your future convenience. They're not all interesting titles, but they get the job done. Love all the lovely reviews.

Disclaimer: I do not own Gundam Wing or any of its characters. I am making no money from this endeavour. Fanart is an excellent bribe, though...

Deadly Beautiful - Chapter 10

by danse

- - -

A regulation alarm clock ticked its way contently through the seconds, echoing a little in the silence of the small room. A young woman, barely out of her teens, with scruffy black hair and blue eyes that were almost purple, lounged on her bed in an olive green tank top and pale camouflage pants. She wiggled her toes comfortably in her socks; her heavy black boots sat neatly side-by-side on the floor.

There was a stack of official reports and books on her regulation desk that she really ought to have been going through, so that she could be well-informed on the expected conduct and activities of the residents of her new base. Unfortunately, it had been a very long first week, and the only thing that she could bring herself to concentrate on was the mystery novel in her hands. She sighed a mix of satisfaction and fatigue as she turned the page.

However, her fun was short-lived. An enormously loud bang was followed quickly by one of the recruits doubled over in her doorway, white-faced and panting, while the door bounced off the wall. He collected himself and stood upright while she calmed her breathing. He'd surprised her so suddenly and loudly that she'd jumped and almost ripped her book in half.

"Jesus Christ!" she snapped irritably. "What is it, Private? You almost gave me a heart attack!"

The private blushed and saluted sharply. "I'm sorry to bother you in your personal quarters, Lieutenant Noin, but there's a problem." The words all came out in a nervous rush.

Oh, god. And it's only the first week, she thought tiredly. She put her book down and got up, glaring at the soldier as she stuffed her feet into her boots. He was still standing rigidly, sweating bullets. "At ease, Private," she sighed. "What's your name?"

"Zhan'deep, Lieutenant." His skin and hair were dark; he might have been Arabic.

"It's after midnight, Zhan'deep. Call me Noin, please." She finished lacing her boots quickly and joined him at the door, noting that he looked very nervous. "What's the problem, and why can't your first senior officer handle it?"

"One of the sentries said that there's an armed intruder in the base. There's already three or four men down. Possibly two are dead. No one can catch the guy."

Noin's eyes widened. An intruder in the base! It was a secret location, full of new recruits for a future project, codename Zodiac, funded by a corporation called OZ. The compound had sprung suddenly out of the South African plain, and had filled with people in the last week. Noin was one of three organizing officers at the base, and she was told as little as possible about what they were trying to accomplish by the higher-ups. She did know, though, that whatever was going on now was probably quite serious, and a dangerous breach of security.

She ran to her desk, yanked open the drawer, and removed a handgun she kept for emergencies. She stalked out the door into the corridor, all of her senses tuned acutely to her surroundings. She couldn't hear much over Zhan'deep's nervous, ragged breathing. "Let's go," she said, gesturing with an inclination of her head as she crept towards the nearest corner. "Do you have a weapon, Zhan'deep?" she asked as she peeked around the corner.

"Yes, sir--I mean Noin."

"Use it. If you die, they'll be upset with me." She heard him swallow nervously, but was too busy peering around the corner, listening for footsteps.

With the private covering her back, Noin advanced silently and quickly down the halls, looking for traces of the phantom intruder. One hundred yards from the empty mess hall, she found two sentries lying on the floor. They were both still breathing, but unconscious from a blow to the back of the head. They were as inexperienced as everybody else here, and probably never saw it coming.

Gritting her teeth, she continued. Passing a door to the training yard, she saw that two of the yellow pot lights in the ceiling had been shot out, and another body lay in the shadows. This one was dead, with a bullet hole in the throat, and the pool of blood around it was cold. He still had his gun; it was an AK-47 rifle. Noin holstered her handgun and relieved the dead sentry of his weapon. She wanted to wound the prowler first with the increased firepower and her experience, before she ended up with a twin hole in her own neck.

She started again at a light jog, trying to escape the feeling of dread that she was having. The other two commanding officers… no, they were at a meeting in Egypt for another two days. They would never get back in time. This was up to her. Zhan'deep was running just behind her, pale but still functioning. The corpse might have been a comrade.

Another light was shot out two corridors away. Glass crunched unheeded under her boots as Noin ran, seeing no one else around her. All of the doors that lined the corridor were closed on dark rooms. Her platoons slept behind those doors. Rooms full of men and women, innocent and off-guard while they dreamed. She rounded another corner at full tilt, and almost stepped on a junior officer who was sprawled on the floor.

"Lieu…Lieuten…" the officer gasped. Her hand was clutched over her stomach. Her name was Johnson.

"Don't talk," Noin ordered as she crouched on the floor next to the girl. "Are you hurt?"

Johnson moved her hand. Her palm was red. There was blood soaking her shirt. "It just…nicked me," she smiled weakly.

"Which way did he go?"

Johnson pointed down the corridor, where Noin had been headed. "You can still…catch him if you hurry…" She winced, and whimpered a little at the pain.

Noin turned around, looking for Zhan'deep. He was right behind her, ogling the scene with horrified fascination. "Zhan'deep," she said in a steady, no-nonsense voice. "Stay here and help Johnson. Keep pressure on the wound to stop the bleeding. Get her to the infirmary as soon as you can, without hurting her. I'm going on." Without waiting for an answer, she took off down the narrow corridor, looking a great deal more in control than she felt. _He's getting closer to the centre of the base, where the power plant and boiler rooms are,_ she thought with sick dread.

Two minutes later, Noin reached the end of the hall. She was facing a door, slightly ajar, that said, 'High Voltage - Do Not Enter.' Her quarry had to be in there. She slid through the door and ghosted into the generator room as silently as a breeze, holding the gun out in front of her with her finger on the trigger. There was a shadow in front of her on the floor, but she couldn't tell what it was. Slowly, she backed up against the wall and felt around with her free hand until she found the button that powered the lights. Silently counting to three, she pushed the button and aimed her rifle as the lights ground into life.

The lump of shadow was a person in black, who whipped around and stood up with predatory grace as the room illuminated. His black toque covered blacker hair, pulled back in a ponytail. He glared at her with deadly, coal-coloured eyes. Considering her, he raised his hands slowly into the air and backed up a step, jarring a metal plate on the generator with his heel and surprising both of them.

Noin jerked her gun compulsively at the thump his heel made, and his eyes widened as they followed the gun. She smirked, feeling in control. She could almost smell his fear. "Lay facedown on the floor with your hands behind your head," she barked.

He obeyed, and she walked over to him, keeping the rifle trained on his head. He looked young. This was the person who had completely infiltrated the base and killed one of her guards? Maybe they needed more training than she'd thought…

The movement was so sudden that she didn't even have time to gasp before she landed flat on her back and winded herself. The gun bounced out of her hands and skittered out of reach as the boy leaped to his feet and ran. Scrambling to her feet, Noin dove for the gun and tried to follow him, wheezing too much to form the angry words that swirled around her brain. She gave chase as quickly as she could, following ten yards behind as the little bastard found a ladder to the roof and propelled himself up it and through the loose grate faster than she was running on the ground.

She clambered up the rungs with her gun slung over her shoulder and saw him just as he was approaching the end of the flat roof. Not bothering to think about anything anymore, she ran as fast as she could after him, closing some distance before she put her finger on the trigger of her gun. He hesitated on the edge of the roof, looking back to see how close she was. It was a fifteen-foot drop to the ground, and she didn't think he'd try it. He would most likely break his ankle when he landed. Grinning maniacally, she ran closer, bringing her gun to his chest level and preparing to fire. This was it.

Naturally, when he jumped off of the roof before she could shoot him, Noin was shocked, angry and frustrated. She screeched to a stop on the edge just in time to see him roll to his feet, wave at her, and take off.

"God _damn_ it!" she yelled, not caring what image she presented. He was getting away. Noin looked down. Maybe it wasn't as far as she'd thought. He'd been able to do it, maybe she could jump without hurting herself. But the gun… Sadly, she dropped the rifle on the roof and made sure she still had her handgun before she took a running start and leaped. As she saw the hard African earth rushing up to meet her, she thought that perhaps this wasn't such a good idea. _Now what?_ she thought. Almost instantly, she was answered. _Roll!_ She tucked her head and let her arms and back absorb the impact, then was turned to the side and rolled like a log for ten feet down a small hill.

As quickly as she could, she staggered to her feet and reoriented herself. Her arm hurt, and she was covered in dust. She pulled out her handgun and took off the safety. The full clip would be plenty, if she could catch him. She had to catch him. Unfortunately, the roar of a motorcycle reached her ears, and she knew that she was screwed. All of the Jeeps and bikes that the Zodiacs had were on the other side of the base. Swearing quietly, she pursued the sound anyway. Perhaps he wasn't far away.

Her body screamed at her that it had had enough running, but she pushed it as hard as she could, breaking into a loping jog and breathing heavily. Her lungs burned. She was tired.

As soon as she saw the silhouette of the kid on the bike, she started firing. A few sparks flew as bullets bounced off of the metal bike, but her arm shook a little, and she wasn't able to hit the boy. With two shots left, she ran closer. Why was he just sitting there?

When she got close enough to see him in the moonlight, he was smiling. All at once, she was furious and scared. "What are you here for?" she demanded.

His voice was deep and had a hint of pained wisdom in it. "You can't defeat us," he said softly. "Not like this."

"Who is 'us'?" she growled.

He ignored her, examining something that he held in his hand. "The just will always win," he said. "Your rage and arrogance blind you, woman. As hard as you try, you can never defeat those who believe in justice."

I believe in justice! she thought angrily. "Why is that?" she asked as calmly as she could.

"Because," he said, holding up the small cylinder in his hand. "I have all of the power." With a devilish smile, he pressed the button on the top.

Noin heard a high-pitched whine, and then the entire base became a fireball. As the thunderous explosion drowned out her scream of rage and shame, the boy roared away on his bike. Rolling waves of heat singed the hair on her arms as she dropped to her knees, staring in horror at the flames and the column of smoke that climbed towards the moon. Flaming debris fell around her, but she didn't notice it and didn't move.

All of those people, sleeping peacefully in their barracks…Zhan'deep, Johnson…But how? Then, like a slap in the face, she remembered the boy backing up, jarring the plate on the generator. Kicking it closed, so she wouldn't see the bomb he'd just wired. _Your rage and arrogance blind you, woman…_

If Noin cried, as she knelt there under the moon with a gun in her hand, the tears were dried instantly by the heat of the flames.

- - - - - - - - - -

A/N: All those poor soldiers... In other news, the war on the review board about Duo's love life is quite interesting. So far, it's pretty even between het and slash shippers, with one person saying that I shouldn't hook him up with anyone. The truth is, Duo's path has been decided, and it is an interesting one, I think. You're not gonna find out what it is yet, though. :P I'm mean. A blizzard struck my town, and I got the next 2 chapters done before the power went out! All rejoice! I'm going to try to post two weeks from this past Monday (May 12), if I can find out what's going on. We shall see thee then.


	11. News Spreads Like Wildfire

A/N: My beta reader is going AWOL for the next four months. I need a temporary replacement to beta new chapters to be posted every two weeks, approximately 2500 words per chapter, usually. If you're decent at editing and you're interested in the position, e-mail me or leave a review with your intent. I'm also a week early with this chapter, but it's short and I needed to relate this news. If I get a beta reader in a week, the next chapter will hopefully come out on May 19 (my birthday, FYI). Review and make me happy.

Disclaimer: I don't own Gundam Wing or any of its parts, and I'm not making any money from this endeavour. I haven't even got the wit to think of a creative disclaimer every chapter, let alone use original characters...

Deadly Beautiful - Chapter 11

By danse

- - -

At a military compound in the south of France, a dignified young man with sandy brown hair and peculiar forked eyebrows sat at the desk in his office. He was leaning back comfortably in his chair with his head propped on one hand, staring at the hypnotic, exploding stars whooshing through his computer screen towards him. He looked like he might have been deep in thought, but he wasn't really thinking about much of anything at the moment, which was a nice change of pace for him.

A quiet but confident knock on the heavy oak door across the room snapped him rather rudely back to reality. Not wanting to look like he'd idly wasted the last forty-five minutes, he quickly sat upright and moved his computer mouse, replacing the screen saver with a letter he'd been writing earlier.

"Come in," he said in a bored, commanding voice.

The door opened to reveal his secretary and advisor, Lady Une. Her long hair was wrapped into buns on either side of her head, and her glasses reflected some of the light from a floor lamp nearby. She nodded her head at him deferentially; it was the closest thing she usually gave to a bow of respect. "Mister Treize," she greeted him. Her voice was a bit husky, but she always sounded like her vocal chords were rusty. He thought it was endearing.

"Hello, Lady Une," Treize said cordially, sweeping his arm to indicate a chair nearby. "How are you this evening?"

"I'm as good as can be expected. Sir," she said, ignoring the chair and standing in front of his desk, "I have some unfortunate news."

Treize suppressed the sigh. "And what would that be?"

A report dropped onto his desk with a defeated _plop_. "The South African base was breached a few hours ago," she replied.

"And…?" Trieze pulled the report closer so that he could read the front page.

Une hesitated. "It was annihilated. Somebody planted a bomb in the generator room."

Treize groaned softly and put his face in his hands. He rubbed his eyes tiredly. "They're all dead?" It was halfway between a question and a statement.

"All three of the commanding officers survived," she said a little more brightly. "Two were away at a meeting. They'll be here by morning."

He peeked up at her. "And the third?"

She shifted her stance. "Sent me the report. She's still down there, not far from the base."

Treize looked at the header on the front page. _Lt. Lucrezia Noin._ Her face flashed into his mind. He knew the girl quite well. Absently, he skimmed the page.

"Sir?" Une asked.

"Yes?"

"What are we going to do about Lieutenant Noin?"

Treize thought for a minute. "Where is the Lightning Baron?" he asked.

"He's staying here at the compound for the next week, Sir. I believe he's sleeping right now."

Trieze glanced at the grandfather clock in the corner of the room and saw with surprise that it was nearly 1:00 in the morning. He frowned. "Will Lt. Noin be alright for tonight?" he asked.

Une looked surprised. "I imagine so, Sir. It will be sunrise there in a few hours, anyway."

He nodded absently. "Send the Baron by helicopter first thing in the morning. He'll bring her back here."

"Yes, Mister Treize," Une said obediently, and turned to leave.

"Lady Une."

She turned around. "Yes, Mister Treize?"

He smiled. "Sweet dreams, Lady."

She blushed a little, but returned the smile. "You should get some sleep too, Sir."

"Good night."

"Good night."

He smiled softly as the door clicked shut behind her.

- - - - - - - - - -

A/N: Your to-do list: 1) Consider being my beta until the end of August; 2) Leave me a nice long review and tell me how much you love this story; 3) Draw me pretty fanart, especially fanart related to the fic. Or draw Badart (stick figures and crappy average doodles). I'll give recognition to the best (worst), and maybe put it on my 1x2 shrine (temporary page). Later days.


	12. Hustler

A/N: No school today, and it's nice out for the first time in 2 weeks. I have a new temporary beta, Link Worshiper. W00t. (Enjoy the chapter.)

Disclaimer: I've got a lovely bunch of coconuts, doodly doo... But that's all I have. I don't own Gundam Wing, and I'm not making any money off of this endeavor.

Deadly Beautiful - Chapter 12

By danse

- - -

Duo grinned as he took a swallow of his beer. Hilde, sitting across from him, was chattering away at nearly a mile a minute about her encounter with her old roommate earlier that day. After spending almost all of yesterday sleeping and drinking water, she had finally approached him this morning about the possibility of her staying with him a little longer, just until she found a job.

He had grinned and said that was fine, and she squealed and hugged him before yelling, 'Be back later!' and leaving. Just like that. He was left to stand in the living room, staring at the door, wondering what was going on.

When she came back three hours later, lugging an old, battered suitcase, he finally understood.

She had smiled sheepishly, gestured with the suitcase, and said, 'My clothes and stuff,' by way of explanation. 'I told Marie what happened, and we got in an argument, but I'll tell you about that later. She knows that I'm not going back there.' The sad, unsure smile on her face yanked at him, and before he knew it, he was hugging her tightly, murmuring reassuring sounds while she cried into his shoulder.

Ten minutes later, she wiped her face, sniffed, smiled, and said, 'I want to go out and do something tonight. Will you come with me?'

So here they were, in a bar Duo frequented occasionally because they didn't ask for ID. Hilde had apparently finished with being sad, and was almost grinning as she rehashed her argument with Marie, blow by blow. Marie was older than her, and had expressed all of the usual overprotective older sibling tendencies when she found out what was going on. "She said she was going to lock me in my bedroom and push food through the door until I came to my senses, so I just finished packing my suitcase, gave her my last fifty bucks for food and rent from my emergency stash--don't worry, I still have fifty on me--and I left. She wasn't happy with me," Hilde shrugged and took an unladylike but practiced swig of her beer.

Duo was in the middle of nodding sympathetically when a huge shadow suddenly covered their little table. It belonged to a very large, muscular man in his mid-twenties.

"Hey, honey," the man said, totally ignoring Duo, "You look bored. Want to play a game of pool with me?"

Hilde glanced at Duo apprehensively. He shrugged and suddenly found the label of his bottle very interesting. Finally, she looked up at the guy.

"Oh, I don't know," she said bashfully. "I'm really not very good…"

"I'll go easy on you," the guy said winningly.

"Okay." Hilde grinned shyly and got up to follow him to the pool tables. Just before she walked away, she turned her head and winked at Duo. That wink made him a little nervous, and he decided that things could get interesting very soon. He leaned back in his chair to watch the game.

Somebody racked the balls for them, and the guy broke, sending balls all over the table and sinking one. He eliminated two more before it was Hilde's turn.

As she walked towards the table to play, Duo couldn't help but notice how many men were admiring her. She was wearing flared jeans that fit her like a glove, as well as a blue tank top that matched her eyes, and a white dress shirt that she'd pilfered from Duo's closet. She leaned only slightly over the cue, standing awkwardly, and soon proved to Duo that she was right--she really wasn't very good at pool.

He watched in some degree of anguish as the guy she was playing with defeated her handily; she only sank three balls the whole game. When the game was over, his voice carried towards Duo as he talked to her.

"Do you want to play another one? But you're getting better; maybe we can make a little wager on this one, to sweeten the deal."

Duo winced as she said, "All right."

"How about fifty dollars?"

She bit her lip. "That's a lot of money…"

"Come on…" Duo was left to sweat and scream silently as the jerk cajoled her into betting fifty dollars on a game she could never win. They gave the bartender the money to hang onto and the game began.

As the loser, Hilde broke this time, and didn't hit the set anywhere near hard enough. The guy won again, quite easily.

"Ohhh!" she wailed, stomping her foot. "I thought I would do better that time!"

The guy smirked, then grinned at her. "Do you want to play one more? Double or nothing?"

"I don't have any more money with me," she replied.

He looked her up and down and grinned in a way that Duo didn't like at all. "I'm sure we'll think of _some_ way to repay me if you lose…"

The 'if' sounded more like 'when'. Duo was about to butt into the conversation, but Hilde smiled and shook her opponent's hand before he got the chance. _How could she not have any idea what she's getting into? _Duo fumed. _I thought she was smarter than that…_ But the smile that still lingered on Hilde's face made him remember the wink she'd given him. A lump of ice formed in his stomach. Something was going on.

He sat forward in his seat to watch the game, chewing on his lip, his half-empty beer forgotten. Hilde had lost, so she was going to break again. The bar had gone quiet, finding out what was going on, and wondering what this idiot girl was going to do. Total silence followed her as she went to the front of the table and leaned down over the pool cue. Her eyes looked fierce and a little predatory, and her air had gone from that of a giggling airhead to a confident professional. Even the bartender had wandered over to watch, the $150 riding on the game clutched in his burly hand.

With powerful grace, Hilde broke and ran the table.

She giggled girlishly as she walked by the gawking loser, tossing her pool cue at him and heading straight for Duo, who was still sitting at their table by the door. She stopped to take her money from the grinning, baffled bartender and winked again as she approached. 'Let's go,' she mouthed at him. He could see the urgency in her expression. Awestruck but still functioning, he followed her out of the bar and down the street. They caught a cab and settled safely in the backseat as the bar rushed away through the back window.

As soon as she was sure that they were getting away, Hilde started to laugh. Nervous and high-strung, Duo joined in, until they were a helpless heap of giggles on the plush seat. The driver was giving them funny looks in the rearview mirror.

Gasping for breath, Hilde wiped tears out of her eyes. "Did you…see…his face?" she gasped. "That was priceless. He won't be bothering girls for a while, and I doubt he'll ever set foot in that bar again!"

Duo sobered up considerably. "Why did you leave so fast?" he asked.

She grinned. "In another five minutes, we would have been fending off an angry mob. It's better to make the getaway."

"You've done that before, then."

"Several times. I've probably cased every bar on this end of town. I can only do it once at each place, and I have to check out the patrons to make sure I haven't done it to anyone there before," she added.

"Where did you learn to play pool so well?" he asked.

"My older brother taught me a long time ago. He was fantastic. I'm not as good as he was."

"Was?"

"He's dead," she said softly.

Duo's eyes widened. _Shit,_ he thought. "I'm so sorry! I didn't mean--"

"It's all right," she said, staring at the street lights outside the cab. "It happened a long time ago." They were both silent for a while. Just before the silence officially became an awkward one, Hilde pointed out the window. "I think we're home," she said.

They were. They got out of the car and stumbled tiredly up the stairs and into the apartment. Duo wandered into the kitchen and discovered that the light on his answering machine was blinking. He pressed the play button and leaned against the fridge while the message played.

The familiar, kind voice of a woman who'd practically raised him spoke primly into the dark kitchen. "Maxwell, I just called to remind you that your vacation time is at its end, and that we expect you in the office bright and early tomorrow morning. I'm sorry that we missed you tonight."

Hilde entered the kitchen and raised her eyebrow at him. "Your office calls you when your vacation time is over?" she asked quizzically.

Duo was a little pale, and his heart was thumping out of his chest as he stared at the little red light. His suspension was over. Apparently, had he been home, he would have been hauled down to G's office tonight, but it would wait until morning now. Helen had sounded a little annoyed, possibly on G's behalf, that he hadn't been waiting at home for their call. Well, he wasn't _that_ whipped, he thought with irritation.

"Yes, they do," he answered absently. "They really care about their employees, I guess."

It wasn't a very good excuse, but she accepted it and went to get ready for bed. Duo didn't notice; he was still staring at the light on the answering machine.

- - - - - - - - - -

A/N: Two weeks from today is June 2, so we'll see every one of you back here then, I hope. If you're wondering about the order of events as I tell them, everything is chronological, and takes time zone differences into account. I mention the date here and there when I can, but perhaps someday I'll create a timeline for everyone's benefit. And today's my birthday! (-0-) Leave me a review. Later days...


	13. Rescue

A/N: Welcome to Numero 13. Enjoy your stay.

Disclaimer: I've got a lovely bunch of coconuts, doodly doo... But that's all I have. I don't own Gundam Wing, and I'm not making any money off of this endeavor.

Deadly Beautiful - Chapter 13

By danse

- - -

Noin leaned against the cool cinderblock wall of the shed and stared at the black smudge on the near horizon. The fire following the explosion had consumed everything remotely burnable before finally putting itself out just before sunrise. There were still a lot of hot spots, and smoke drifted into the light blue sky, taking bits of ash with it that eventually rained down onto the dry South African grass.

After shaking herself out of a daze that she didn't remember slipping into, Noin had picked herself up off of the ground and walked away from the flames. There was nothing else to do. All of the vehicles at the base had probably been obliterated with the buildings A kilometre away, though, there was a squat, sturdy shed, containing a cot, a table, emergency rations, and a radio, just in case anything happened. Everyone who worked at the base should have known it existed, and would hopefully go to find it if they survived.

Noin had spent the entire night sitting on the cot with her arms wrapped around her knees and her gun on the blanket beside her, staring out of the tiny Plexiglas window that faced the base. She hadn't seen a single person come out of it all night.

After using the radio to reach the emergency contact in France and report the situation, she had sat on the cot and watched the fire burn out. An hour after making contact, she got a single message: _Be ready to go at 0700 hours local._ She hadn't been entirely sure what to think about that. All of her soldiers--the people whose care she had been charged with--were dead and most likely cremated, and it was her fault more than anyone's, and now she was going to be removed from the area. God only knew what would happen to her then.

According to a military-issue digital watch on her left wrist, it was currently 0715, and she was waiting outside for her ride home, as the last tendrils of smoke twisted and slithered into the sky.

She felt the thrum of the helicopter in the area of her chest almost before she heard it. She walked out onto the open grass and started waving her arms to get the pilot's attention. A few moments later, her bangs were whipped away from her face and the grass was flattened by the whirlwind of the chopper blades. The black helicopter landed lightly on the ground, and the door slid open to reveal the pilot. His face was obscured by the face shield on his helmet, but long, platinum blonde hair flowed out of the back of it, held in a ponytail to keep it out of his vision.

Noin's breath caught in her throat. She only knew one pilot who had hair like that. _They didn't..._ she thought, with a little dread and a lot more embarrassment. _Not him, anyone but him..._

The Lightning Baron leaned towards the open door, and yelled to be heard over the noise of the blades whirring above him. "_Are you getting in, or what?_"

Pushing gross feelings of inadequacy down where they'd stay out of the way, Noin jogged over to the open door and climbed gracefully into the seat. She shut the door, put on the helmet she was offered, and melted into the padded seat with a tired sigh. There was a bruise on her shoulder from her dive off of the roof of the base, and it was a lovely shade of lavender under the strap of her tank top.

The helicopter lifted off of the ground and soared into the air, making a wide swoop to head north as it climbed. After a while, the noise of the blades chopping was less noticeable, and Noin could hear herself think. She sneaked a sideways glance at her rescuer, who was too busy looking at the land below them to notice.

He really hasn't changed much, she thought bemusedly. _Still quiet, still intent on the job...still a little ignorant. The same Zechs Merquise that I always knew._ How long had it been since she'd seen him last? Not since the day that they'd graduated from the Romefeller Military Academy, in Corsica. _That was...let's see, now...one year, three months, and twenty-two days ago._ Noin had always been fairly quick with numbers.

she thought bemusedly. How long had it been since she'd seen him last? Not since the day that they'd graduated from the Romefeller Military Academy, in Corsica. Noin had always been fairly quick with numbers. 

Eventually, Zechs decided that it was time to make conversation. He looked over at Noin. "It's been a long time, hasn't it, Lucy?"

Noin raised an eyebrow, ever so slightly. He was the only person she'd ever known who called her anything so informal as Lucy; he'd tagged her with the nickname when they were fourteen. She spent a few seconds trying to decide if she'd missed it, and couldn't make up her mind. "Yes, it has," she answered, her voice just a tiny bit husky. It was the dust, she told herself.

He continued, not really looking at her, but talking to her all the same. "I don't think we've seen each other once since we graduated. I thought you were going to become a teacher."

"I changed my mind," she answered. Half of the reason that she'd changed her mind was because she wanted to have the opportunity to see Zechs again, and she knew that if she lived a civilian life, that would never happen.

"It's just kind of funny," he mused. "I remember one night, after combat training, we were walking back to the bunk house, and we were talking about what we were going to do when we grew up. You said that you hated war, and fighting, and that when you graduated, you were never going to have any part of it. And I've thought, now and then, ever since, that I never asked you exactly why you were in military school if you hated war so much." He paused, and looked at her briefly. "I guess I'm asking now."

Noin examined her hands, playing absently with the skin on her knuckles. It was true, that Zechs was a little ignorant, and very unobservant. He had a tendency to just accept things without thinking about why they were, if he noticed them at all. Finally, she answered the question that he'd never thought of asking when they were sixteen. "I went to military school because my father was a big, strapping, Greek nationalist who served in the army and thought that it was grand, and that all of his five children should serve, too. Even his daughter. My older brothers went to a military college outside of Athens and have since gone on to get lots of medals and pick fights in Cyprus. He's very proud of all of them.

"When I was ten, I went to military school because it was a fine education, and it would teach me good values, and I could be a slightly smaller, but just as strapping, Greek nationalist and pick fights with the Turks. Except that I preferred the lessons to the drills, and I got grades near the top of my class, and I wanted to be a math teacher. Papa wasn't overly pleased, but Mama wouldn't let him do anything about it. She was proud of my brothers, too, but she was secretly glad that I didn't really want to get lots of war medals and die young, like one of my brothers did. And that was that."

Zechs absorbed all this. "But you didn't become a teacher after all."

Noin shrugged. "The military pays well. Teaching doesn't." That was the other half of the reason that she'd accepted the position in South Africa. Not that it hadn't taken some self-persuasion. Training recruits could be just as fulfilling as teaching math, she thought. It was supposed to be a safe job.

The conversation died a quick death, and for ten minutes, Noin's thoughts kept her company. The landscape had become greener when she wasn't looking. They were approaching the Congo.

"That's a hell of a bruise on your shoulder," Zechs tried finally. "How'd you get it?"

"I jumped off of the roof of a building, and then it blew up." Noin shifted in her seat to gaze out of the window, but only saw her image, and the irony and sadness reflected in her eyes.

- - - - - - - - - -

A/N: Hooray for irony, and hooray also for love with problems. I think. Zechs is just such a brilliant conversationalist when he's not talking about battle... cough Leave me a review, and we'll see every last one of you back here on June 16.


	14. Your Gun is Your Scythe

A/N: No more school. That means more time to write. Hooray. Look out for Shirtless!Duo, followed by Moody!Duo, this chapter. Yippy skippy. Leave a review.

Disclaimer: I've got a lovely bunch of coconuts, doodly doo... But that's all I have. I don't own Gundam Wing, and I'm not making any money off of this endeavor.

Deadly Beautiful - Chapter 14

By danse

- - -

Duo turned off the blast of hot water and stepped out of the shower in a cloud of steam. He stood on the blue bath mat and dripped for a minute while he wrung out his hair into the tub, then grabbed a towel off of the rack next to him and started rubbing his arms with it.

He put on the pair of black sweatpants that were lying on the bathroom floor and walked down the hallway to his bedroom with no shirt on, displaying a well-built chest and abs. He shut the bedroom door behind him and got dressed quickly, putting his hair in a ponytail to keep it out of the way, as he felt too lazy to braid it at the moment.

Five minutes later, he walked into the kitchen in dark blue jeans and a black, long-sleeved t-shirt, his hair still in a ponytail, and nodded a tired greeting at Hilde as he wandered to the coffee maker. It was already on, and making happy bubbling and steaming noises as it poured hot, fresh coffee into the glass decanter. Duo was tired enough to stand in front of it and blink in confusion for a few moments, wondering what was going on. It was a very bad thing to interrupt a morning routine that he'd kept ever since he'd had a coffee maker.

"I already turned it on. It's almost ready," Hilde clarified from her stool at the counter. "Sorry, I was just trying to be helpful."

"It's okay," he said as he pulled out a stool and sat. "I just need to get used to having another person around, that's all."

Hilde nodded and went back to her cereal.

When Duo's coffee was ready, he poured a cup and drank it black, then chased it with another one that contained cream and sugar. He got up and put his cup in the sink, and Hilde stared at him. He turned and met her gaze. "What?"

"Is that all you ever have for breakfast?" she asked incredulously.

"Yep."

"But...how...don't you need to eat anything else?" she finally choked out, a little disgusted.

"Not usually. I like my coffee. Wakes me up." He grinned.

Hilde made a face. "How do you stay in such good shape without eating regularly?" she said. "Coffee's not good for you on an empty stomach."

"Whatever you say, Mom." Duo was a little annoyed by the mild nagging. He'd never actually had a mother to nag him, except Helen, and he was fiercely independent. Suddenly having someone around to pick holes in his habits was disconcerting.

"Sorry," she amended, "but, _ugh_. You're weird. I gotta have some food to function when I can get it." To punctuate her sentence, she dug into her cereal again.

Duo shrugged and grabbed his car keys off of the counter. "I'm going to work," he said. "Are you good for the day?"

She nodded. "Yeah. I'm gonna go job hunting when I'm done eating." She was wearing clean jeans that weren't too tight, and a white linen blouse that looked conservative and suited her very well.

"Okay. Good luck and don't forget to lock the door," he said, and left the apartment. She'd have to wait until he got home to get back in, because he hadn't given her a key.

Duo thumped softly down the stairs in his black Docs to the entrance of the building, then swung out of the front door into bright morning sunshine. It was going to be a warm day for April. He sauntered across the sidewalk to his car, which was parked right near the front door of the building, next to a broken parking meter. He loved his car; it was an old, black Mustang, with chrome detail, and got about twenty miles to the gallon, but it was a classic, and it made him feel like a king when he sat in the driver's seat. He kept it shining, and heads turned when it roared down the street. It was great for picking up women.

He got inside and started the engine. It turned over with a growl, and he turned the radio on almost loud enough to make the windows vibrate with the bass as he drove through morning traffic to G's office. He felt positively serene as he walked into the main lobby of the building.

- - -

Helen looked up from her computer screen as Duo walked into G's personal reception area. "Go on in, honey. He's waiting for you."

Duo nodded and pushed through the heavy oak door that led to his employer's office. G was standing with his back to the door, looking out of the big windows at the constantly moving city below.

"You rang, G?" Duo asked as he plopped himself down in a chair in front of the desk.

"I would rather have had you here last night," G said as he turned around and eased himself comfortably into his chair. "Where were you?"

"Out," Duo said defensively. "I'm allowed to have a life outside of work."

"Not outside of this work, you're not," G scolded, but it was much more matter-of-fact than fierce. G wasn't terribly hard to aggravate, but when he wasn't angry, he was more of an overworked father figure prone to sardonic humor.

Duo slouched to avoid the truth of the remark. "What do you need from me, G?"

G slid some papers from the side of his desk to the middle. "You're going undercover. This is our second, _and probably last_," he emphasized, "try at Miss Darlian. She goes to a private school outside of town. Tomorrow, you will be as well. You're enrolling as a new transfer student, and you'll be living in the dorms there and going to classes, most of them having her in them."

Duo frowned. _Tomorrow? What about Hilde? I can't just leave all of a sudden._ "I can't do it tomorrow, G."

G stared at him like he'd grown another head. What was he talking about? He did what he was told. "You can't? Why not?"

"There's someone else at my place right now."

G looked more thoroughly baffled, and a little suspicious. Duo sighed, and had to tell the whole story about Hilde, except perhaps for what he'd been doing last night, which he thought was none of G's business.

When the story was done, G leaned back in his chair and contemplated Duo with an odd look. "So you can't go tomorrow because you have a new girlfriend?"

"She's not my girlfriend. She's just staying with me until she gets back on her feet."

G looked skeptical, but said nothing about it. "Have you told her anything?"

"I work in an office building, and I just took a week of vacation."

G nodded. "Good. So then, what are you going to do about it?"

"About what?"

"About the fact that you're leaving tomorrow, and have to either kick her back out onto the street or invent more and more excuses and stories until you contradict yourself and she gets suspicious. You know very well what will have to happen if she gets suspicious, Maxwell."

Duo swallowed nervously. This wasn't a good situation. Getting a little frantic but trying not to show it in front of his boss, who was pinning him down with an indifferent stare of authority, he cast about desperately for a solution. He just needed time... "Give me a week," he blurted out finally.

G frowned, thinking. He scratched his nose, looking at the barely concealed panic on his agent's face. Finally, he sighed. "Fine. Exactly one week. No more," he said, less-than-benevolently.

Duo nodded, formulating a plan. "All right," he said. "Now tell me what I need to know for the mission."

G got down to business. "Your alias will be Scott McNeil," he said. "You're going to be a Grade 11 student at Miss Darlian's school, Clearwater Academy. You're a transfer student from upstate. You'll attend classes with her and get to know her. I want you to become her best friend, Maxwell."

"If you want a best friend, send a girl," Duo said, not unreasonably.

"Then become her boyfriend. The point is, I want you to be close to her. Make her trust you. Then bring her back here."

"Syringe again?"

"For the journey. We don't want her to know where she is." G got up to look out of the window again. "You'll be issued a computer before you go, to communicate. You'll be sending a message every night regarding your mission progress. Take as long as absolutely necessary, but I'm giving you a month. The sooner you're back, the better."

Duo nodded his understanding.

"Due to the length of the mission and the situation, you'll also be issued a code name for communication. Your code name will be Reaper."

"Reaper?" Duo was puzzled.

"Think about it, boy. How many people have you killed? Does it give you nightmares? I know it doesn't. You're the most desensitized agent in my employ." G came around the desk and laid a hand on Duo's shoulder in an altogether very comforting way. "You have a knack for killing, Duo. You're very good at it. When you use your gun, you rarely miss. You are the Grim Reaper and your gun is your scythe. Consider it a compliment." G removed his hand from Duo's shoulder and backed away. "You're dismissed."

Duo got up and left G's office, too lost in thought to say goodbye to Helen as he walked by her. He was in his car, about to turn the key in the ignition, when he finally crumbled under the weight of revelation. His head thumped against the top of the steering wheel in some far-off dimension, and he was a million miles away, fighting with the truth. _You have a knack for killing..._ What kind of compliment was that?

He didn't know how long it took to bring himself back to normal, at least enough to drive, but eventually he could turn the key in the ignition and back out of his parking spot. His hands didn't shake, and he didn't feel even remotely hysterical. There was a shield between him and the rest of the world. He could do things with as much ease as usual, but he couldn't seem to distract himself from his mind with the outside world. Everything material seemed trivial and distant. He was in a plastic bubble.

The Mighty Maxwell, super-desensitized killing machine, he thought sardonically as he drove. _No job that he can't do..._ He was driving, quite nicely in fact, but he didn't really care where he was going. Instead of heading home, he drove through town, out of the Brooklyn area and through random streets in Queens, passing white houses with neat green lawns, into Manhattan, passing shining mirrors of skyscrapers that reflected the hot afternoon sun.

, he thought sardonically as he drove. He was driving, quite nicely in fact, but he didn't really care where he was going. Instead of heading home, he drove through town, out of the Brooklyn area and through random streets in Queens, passing white houses with neat green lawns, into Manhattan, passing shining mirrors of skyscrapers that reflected the hot afternoon sun. 

Eventually, he parked the car outside of an office building and started walking. An hour later, he dimly realized that he was entering Central Park. He collapsed on the grass under a tree, not noticing the new green leaves that were almost fully sprouted, covering the ground with dancing shadows. He didn't notice fluffy ducklings following their parents around the lake. He didn't notice that it was nearly 6:00, and that Hilde was probably sitting on the front stoop of a brownstone in Brooklyn, waiting for him to come home and open the door of apartment 5B. At that point, he might not have cared.

As it got later and steadily darker, people walking through the park with dogs and children and groceries would cast a glance at the young man with the ponytail, sitting under a tree with his arm braced on his knee, staring at a fixed spot right in front of him, and wonder. He didn't move a muscle for a long time; he didn't feel them cramping up. His eyes, typically blue, but sometimes purple in the right light, looked dead. He might have been chiseled out of stone. He looked like he might outlive the Earth itself if he tried. Death was immortal, after all.

At 8:30, the sky was darker blue than his jeans, and a wind had come up that was blowing loose strands of hair around his face. A patrolling police officer walked up and tapped him on the shoulder. Coming out of a thick haze, Duo looked at him blandly.

"You should be moving along, kid," the police officer said, not unkindly. "It's getting kinda cold."

Duo didn't feel cold, but he got up and stuffed his hands in his pockets as he wandered along the path. He left the park and ambled back towards the place where his Mustang was parked, taking his time. He was still hazy, still thinking, as slowly and patiently as the Earth breathes.

He got in his car, yanking a parking ticket out from under the wiper, and heard the engine roar to life. He drove back to Brooklyn in silence, his radio that had been blaring that morning now dark and dead.

When he got home, Hilde wasn't sitting on the front step of the brownstone. Duo was too far away from himself to wonder. He just opened the front door and walked up the stairs to the fifth floor slowly. He got to the brown door whose gold figures said 5B and let himself in. Hilde was curled up on the threadbare grey couch, watching a sitcom and drinking a glass of water. She looked up at him and grinned. "Hi."

"How did you get in?" Duo asked as he dropped his keys on the kitchen counter.

"I helped some lady on the fourth floor take in her groceries, so she let me in downstairs. I picked the lock on the apartment door. That was at about 6:30."

Her story matched fresh scratches that he'd absently noted on the doorknob outside. She'd probably used a hairpin. "Did you find a job?"

She scowled. "No. Tried at two diners, an office building, and a nursing home. They all said they weren't hiring."

"You need a resume."

"I went to a library five blocks away this morning and typed one up on a computer. It didn't help."

"Oh well. Try again tomorrow." _And every day this week until you find one._

Hilde turned to face him and studied his face. "Are you okay?" she asked. "You don't sound like normal."

"I'm fine," he said. "Look, I've had a long day, I'm going to bed." He turned and walked down the hall to his room without waiting for acknowledgement.

"Goodnight..." drifted down the hall after him.

He undressed methodically and slipped under the covers of his bed, not bothering to do anything about the ponytail. For an hour and a half, he just lay there, staring at the dark ceiling above him while thoughts drifted through his head. He still felt distant, but he was quickly getting used to it. He suspected he'd feel like that for a while.

You have a knack for killing, Duo. You're very good at it a compliment. He thought slowly, all of the threads winding together to a conclusion. _If I am the Reaper,_ he thought, _if killing is my talent...I'll hone it to perfection. There's no need to fear what I can do..._

He thought slowly, all of the threads winding together to a conclusion. he thought, 

Strangely pacified, he drifted off to sleep.

- - - - - - - - - -

A/N: Don't fear the Reaper, baby. /smacks head at stupid song reference pun/ I am sooooo done. I always appreciate constructive criticism. Give me some. See y'all on June 30.


	15. Prince of the Desert

A/N: Happy 15. 'Sbloody hot here. Can't think. *melts*

Disclaimer: I use these characters without permission, and despite the fact that no one involved is being paid, they're not complaining.

Deadly Beautiful - Chapter 15

__

By danse

~*~

Trowa sighed softly as he opened his eyes. He was lying on his back under the covers, staring at a ceiling the colour of sand. He knew that if he touched it, it would probably have the same texture. Intense golden sunlight streamed in through the window in the wall behind him and lanced across the room to create a bright square on the opposite wall, lighting the rest of the room with a soft yellow-white glow.

It was already too hot for him to go back to sleep. He got up with a groan and stretched slowly, his long arms seeming to fill most of the small bedroom. Stifling a yawn, he dressed in the clothes he'd been given--long, loose robes in varying shades of khaki--and sauntered out the door to face the world.

The desert compound was as bustling at this hour as it always was in the six days that he'd been here. It was a constant hive of activity. He had to quickly flatten himself against the wall as a woman in her mid-twenties streaked by, muttering something in Arabic and barely sparing him a glance. There were nearly three hundred people living and working at the compound, and he fit in with hardly a ripple; he doubted he'd met even a quarter of them yet.

After the coast was clear, he strolled down the hall, turning corners and nodding at people he knew, moving quickly and always aiming for the War Room, where he knew he could find his host. He pushed aside the red curtain that hung in the doorway and found Quatre talking to two large, burly men in front of an overhead projector screen. The young man looked very animated, gesturing almost frantically as he talked. The larger of the two men, who Trowa knew was Rashid, the head of this organization, had a look on his face that was halfway between disinterest and anger.

"No, I don't agree with that at all, Quatre," he said in a deep, rumbling voice. "Perhaps a little more research is in order...better safe than sorry, eh?"

Quatre frowned, opened his mouth, closed it, and suddenly realized that Trowa was in the room. His entire face suddenly changed from impatient to ecstatic, so fast that Trowa felt a bit scared. "Good morning, Trowa," he said. "Sleep well?"

"Oh, yeah. I still can't get used to sleeping in this heat, though."

Quatre laughed. "I'm just about ready for a nap, myself. I've been up since three o'clock this morning." Many of the people here slept during the hot day and worked at night. It worked out well, because that meant that there was always a shift of people on call in an emergency.

The two boys excused themselves from the meeting and went to the mess hall to get something to eat. There were a few tables with people in the huge room; food was served constantly, and the residents ate when they were hungry. The boys got trays and filled them with edibles, then sat at the closest table.

Six days ago, Trowa had met Quatre in a service corridor of the Royal Arabian Hilton in Hofuf. After killing two dozen guards who were after Trowa, they had escaped to the roof of the hotel via the air ducts, and had another fast but fierce shootout with a handful of heavily armed guards before they managed to escape in a helicopter belonging to Quatre's allies. By that evening, they were almost 150 miles away from Hofuf, sequestered in a large base hidden in the dunes and extremely well-protected. Trowa had been thoroughly confused by the whole ordeal, and he and Quatre had stayed up for most of that night, sitting in the mess hall with large cups of coffee, while Quatre told him what was going on.

This compound was the headquarters of the largest group of guerilla fighters in the Middle East. They called themselves the Maganacs, and were led by the burly Rashid. Saudi freedom fighters and firm believers in democracy and free expression, they used their considerably large force to help keep the dictators of the oil-rich Middle East on a short leash.

Quatre was the only son and youngest child of a very rich and powerful man who had made his fortune in the oil industry. He owned a large corporation called Winner Enterprises, Inc., and intended for all his children to follow in his footsteps. Quatre had twenty-nine older sisters, from four different marriages. Eight were half-sisters, eleven were stepsisters, two were adopted, and the remaining seven had the same mother and father as him. His mother had died in a car accident when Quatre was three.

Quatre had been conditioned almost since birth to eventually work as an executive for Winner Enterprises, along with all of his sisters. His father would consider nothing else for their futures, and when Quatre's natural marksmanship and compassionate attitude led him to the Maganacs at the age of fourteen, Mr. Winner had been less than impressed. When he discovered that Quatre's music teacher, Instructor H, had had a hand in Quatre's conversion to a rebel fighter, the man had coincidentally been in a maiming car accident a few weeks later, and was now in a wheelchair. Quatre had said that he privately thought that H was supposed to die in the accident, but being permanently paralyzed probably appealed to his father's sense of justice enough to leave him alone after that.

The real kicker though, Quatre had told Trowa, was that not only had _he_ abandoned the ivory Winner palace, but so had his sister, Iria. She had wanted to become a doctor, not a vice-president, and had many long, angry fights with their father about it, before she finally walked out the door a month after Quatre did. Now she was training as a field doctor with the Maganacs. Iria had been taken out of the will for that, but Quatre was apparently supposed to come to his senses someday, and he still had a place at home, if he wanted it.

Quatre had extended his skills at shooting to the point of being a professional sniper, and he was very good at it. He'd been on over a dozen missions already, all successful. The assassination of Trowa Barton was meant as a warning to his father, Dekim, who had recently made a lot of shady dealings among the oil magnates, and had several Saudi politicians in his back pocket. "There's more to it than that, actually, but I can't tell you," Quatre had said apologetically. Trowa nodded; he understood the need for secrecy. That was why Quatre, in turn, would never know about the files in his silver briefcase. That was how things worked, and they both understood that.

Trowa looked down in surprise; he'd been in a sort of reverie, processing what had happened in the past several days, and hadn't noticed that his plate was nearly empty. He'd kept eating mechanically, totally oblivious to the world. He looked up at Quatre, who was drinking Turkish coffee and reading a handwritten report that he'd brought with him.

Now seemed like as good a time as any to say it. "Quatre..."

"Hmmm?" The blond boy raised his eyebrows to show he was listening, but kept skimming the report.

Trowa put down his fork. "I need to be going."

Quatre met Trowa's eyes over the paper. "Already?"

"Things to do," he said in an offhand way.

"Of course," Quatre said mechanically, not believing the nonchalant act at all.

"I can't fly out of Hofuf. Do you have any suggestions?"

Quatre sipped his coffee as he thought. To Trowa it looked more likely chewable than drinkable, but he hid his distaste. Suddenly, Quatre stood up, with his report in one hand and his mug in the other. "Come on," he said, gesturing with his head toward the door.

They went back to the War Room and found Rashid still there, talking to a man in a wheelchair. The man was small and had a handlebar mustache. Trowa's eyes widened.

"Is that H?" he whispered, standing beside Quatre in the doorway. Quatre nodded silently, and waited for a break in the conversation before talking.

"Rashid," he said, "can my friend here use a helicopter? He needs to leave."

Rashid frowned. "How long does he need it?"

Quatre looked at Trowa. "Can you make it home in a helicopter?"

Trowa stared, disbelieving. "How far do they travel?"

"Are you from continental Europe?"

Trowa remained silent, not wanting to divulge anything.

Quatre looked exasperated, and set his coffee down so he could grasp Trowa's shoulders. He looked into Trowa's eyes, letting seafoam-coloured friendship wash over his guest. "Trowa, we can drop you wherever you want on the continent. We don't have to know where you go from there. We've been through stuff already and trusted each other, so why don't we take it a little farther?" He spread his arms wide and smiled. "You know where I live."

Trowa thought for a few seconds, then relaxed and nodded. "The continent is fine. I appreciate your generosity."

Quatre looked at Rashid, who nodded. "Are you going with him, Quatre?"

"I might as well. It's not fair to occupy another pilot on personal business. Besides," he said, looking playfully at Trowa, "you don't have a reason to trust anyone but me, do you, Trowa?"

***

Trowa changed back into his navy suit and got his silver briefcase, and was ready to go. He and Quatre left the Maganacs that afternoon, after Quatre took a nap, and flew the helicopter to the outskirts of Athens, where Quatre dropped him off. Before he took off again, Quatre gave Trowa a bear hug and kissed him quickly on each cheek. "That's how we Maganacs say goodbye to a friend," he said by way of explanation. He grinned. "I hope we meet again, Trowa."

Strangely unable to speak, Trowa nodded and walked away. He felt the wind as the helicopter took off, and turned back to look as Quatre disappeared into the sunny blue sky.

***

After calling his emergency contact number and talking to the operator at S' headquarters, Trowa picked up a car that was waiting for him and drove through the lush, green hills until he found the compound. He went in a side door, nodding at the guard there, and wove his way through the familiar, sanitary corridors alone until he reached S' office. He had been gone for nine days on a three-day mission, and the conference had probably ended up on the news. He would have some explaining to do.

***

Catherine had been replaced by an elderly lady at the secretary's desk when he got there. She ushered him through to his employer's domain without a word, and he mentally readied himself for a long, intensive debriefing. As he pushed through the heavy door, though, he couldn't help but wonder what had become of Catherine while he was gone...

A/N: I'm going to see if I can get three more chapters up before the end of the month, for reasons that will be divulged later. Till next time: Reviews. They're in you to give. (^.~)


	16. Chinese Terrorists and Chinese Cuisine

A/N: It's incredibly hot in this room. I think I'm melting. You get two more chapters this month. Go outside and play fetch with a friendly dog.

Disclaimer: I use these characters without permission, and despite the fact that no one involved is being paid, they're not complaining.

Deadly Beautiful - Chapter 16

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By danse

~*~

The diner was noisy and bustling; waitresses hurried between tables and the kitchen, carrying trays and notebooks. Patrons sat in booths along the windows, talking and laughing without a care in the world. Two small children were playing a complicated sort of hide-and-seek among booths and potted plants while their parents ate pancakes with syrup.

In sharp contrast to the merriment and noise, one booth was occupied only by a silent young man. He had long, jet-black hair that was pulled back in a severe ponytail, and was wearing a plain white T-shirt and khaki pants over well-worn runners. He was nursing his second cup of green tea as he stared at the green vinyl back of the bench opposite him, lost in thought.

You might not have been able to tell just by looking at him, but the young man was a descendant, and the sole heir, of a Chinese family whose influence had affected their home country since the Qu Dynasty. He had already been married into the incredibly powerful Long clan, a move which was meant to gain his family even more power and influence among a constantly changing Chinese regime. Unfortunately, along with the fluctuation of power among the leadership of the country, other changes had occurred much closer to home. Now, instead of practicing kung fu or reading philosophy, which were his two favourite activities, he was sitting in a crowded diner in New Jersey, wondering when the person he was meeting today was going to show up.

He frowned and sipped his tea. At home, people would have been granted an audience with _him_, not the other way around. And they wouldn't be an hour late, either. His temple throbbed a little, as if experimenting to see how close he could be pushed to the edge of his patience. Didn't those kids' parents have any respect for other people? Their children were laughing and yelling quite loudly.

His thoughts drifted aimlessly as he stared at the green vinyl seat. He thought of his last mission, five days ago. It had gone amazingly well, despite the trouble he'd had with one of the commanding officers at the base. She was resilient, but not nearly enough to defeat him.

__

Too emotional, that's all, he thought. _If she hadn't let feelings get in the way of actions, she might still have an army._ This was not regret at what he'd done, nor was it sympathy or pathos. It was a casual observation, unbiased and emotionally detached. In his experience, emotion crippled more than bullets or broken bones ever could. Fear, anger, frustration, sadness...love. Women always seemed more prone to strong emotion than men. He could never understand why women always seemed to be put in positions where emotional outbursts could stand between them and victory. Why take the risk when a man could be counted on to do the job more efficiently? It was a waste of lives.

__

If only they'd kept her back...maybe two_ less lives would have been wasted..._ The thought assaulted him from dark parts of his brain, parts he kept quarantined. The thought wasn't talking about the female officer at the base he'd destroyed; not anymore. He took a deep breath to keep the pain at bay, then another one when it didn't seem to work. _Not here...not now..._ He stared into the depths of his ceramic mug, breathing slowly, fighting to stay in control. Eventually, he calmed into a meditative state, not thinking about anything in particular. He stared at his tea. This was a safe way to be. No thoughts...

"...Mr. Chang?"

The young man's head snapped up; it took a few blinks to get his fuzzy brain to focus on the man who'd spoken. Then he nodded curtly, and glared. "You're an hour late," he snapped.

The older man sat down across from him and waved a waitress over. "Have you eaten?" he asked, dodging the accusation bluntly.

They ordered lunch, and sat with coffee and fresh tea to begin their meeting. The elder man, who was a little on the pudgy side, sipped at his coffee, then added cream and two packets of Sugar Twin. After another test sip, he deemed it good enough to drink, and took a bigger sip, smiling into his cup.

Too impatient to wait for the end of this ritual, the young man leaned in, closing the distance between them, and said in a low voice, "What have you got for me on Kushrenada?"

His informant sighed. "Wufei, you have to learn to appreciate the finer things in life. Sunshine, cool breezes, good coffee, conversation..."

"If you'd shown up an hour ago, I might have had time for all that," Wufei retorted.

"Okay, okay," the informant said, and put down his coffee reluctantly to pick up his briefcase. Setting it on the seat beside him, he opened it up and removed a manila envelope, which he pushed across the table. Wufei picked it up an instant before a salad appeared in front of him. He smiled tolerantly at the waitress until she moved away.

As soon as she was safely gone, he opened it and pulled out a dossier and a stack of glossy photographs, which he pored over hungrily while his companion watched him over a club sandwich, his eyes twinkling with merriment.

"Does it pass muster, captain?" the informant asked when Wufei had finished reading.

Wufei looked up at him with eyes as dark as drowning pools. "Your money's in its usual place," he answered before tucking into his salad.

***

Ninety-two miles away from the diner in New Jersey, Hilde was in a diner in New York City, trying to convince the burly cook that they really needed her as a waitress in their establishment.

"I can clean, smile, and talk to people, and I can remember hugely long lists of orders! I can balance a tray in one hand!" She was getting a bit frantic, as this was her third day of job hunting, and she still hadn't been successful, despite covering what seemed like every place that employed people within twenty blocks of Duo's apartment. This was not the first time today that she had almost resorted to begging on her knees. "Please!"

"No references, no job," the cook said, and walked back into his kitchen, effectively ending the conversation.

Hilde's whole face dissolved into helpless anguish, and she barely kept herself from collapsing on the counter in tears. Instead, she dragged herself out of the diner, scowling at the tinkly bell on the door, and shuffled dejectedly down the street, away from her fifth rejection that afternoon.

She wandered aimlessly for a while, looking for a distraction to lift her spirits, and settled for a bench near a playground, where she sat and dully watched children playing Marco Polo. She watched as they climbed on the brightly-coloured jungle gym like monkeys, and listened as they laughed and yelled. She felt the warm sun on the back of her neck, and after a while, her spirits lifted. Not much, but she decided she wasn't depressed anymore. After a few moments of peace, she decided to try addressing her problems again, a little more rationally this time. With a deep breath, she took two large mental steps back and tried to look at the situation in a different light.

Right now, she was in a better position than she'd been in for the last few years. She was warm, dry, and fed. There was a roof over her head, and she was healthy and clean. Unfortunately, she wasn't sure how much longer she could last unless she found a job.

She'd been basically freeloading for the last four days, living in Duo's apartment, eating his food, using his shower, and sleeping in his living room. Every night, he asked her if she'd found a job yet with increasing worry on his face and in his voice. Hilde had recently had the best stroke of luck ever, and she knew that this was her only chance to start over, but she was deathly afraid of wearing out her welcome. Besides, she really liked Duo. A lot.

He was easily the nicest, most sensitive guy she'd ever met, and he didn't automatically try to take advantage of her. She'd even tried to bribe him to stay out of trouble, and he'd refused. This was a fairy tale to her. She wanted to find work, to repay him for his hospitality, but she also wanted to stay near him. She was sure that they could make it work, and she wanted to take things slowly. She wanted this to mean something.

Hilde had done a lot of things in the past, to survive, and there weren't many of them that she felt proud of. Her body was no temple, and she felt dirty when she stood next to Duo. But that was the great thing about love, wasn't it? It could burn out all of the unclean and unkind parts and leave something whole, and pure, and alive. It could make you feel like you were worth something.

The children had all been called into their houses for supper. Hilde grinned for the first time that day as she got up and walked back home.

***

"So..." Duo said nonchalantly as he picked at his chicken fried rice. They were eating Chinese takeout on the couch, watching a sitcom on TV. He put down his chopsticks and took a swig of Coke. "Did you have any luck today?"

Hilde winced slightly as she put her own Coke down on the coffee table. She pulled her legs underneath her and shifted so that she was sitting cross-legged. "No. I can't get a job anywhere without references."

The laugh track from the TV show muffled Duo's "Hmmm," a bit, and he ate some more rice as he stared moodily at the screen.

She watched him apprehensively, and took a bite of ginger beef, thinking. She'd had an idea an hour ago, and now seemed like as good a time as any to present it. She swallowed, then turned to him and started her speech. "Hey, do you think that since I don't have any employer references, maybe, at the right place, I could give a personal character reference," she was in the home stretch now, "from somebody who I've been in close contact with, if they're an employee in good standing at that company?" She finished in a bit of a rush, the words tumbling over each other.

Duo nodded into his food. "Sounds like a good idea," he said absently. "Where were you planning on--" He looked at her and saw his question answered by the hopeful look on her face. She looked a bit like a lost puppy, and she was giving him the innocent, watery doe eyes...which hadn't failed to work on him so far. He blinked, then stabbed his chopsticks into his carton of rice with exasperation. "I don't think we have any positions free," he said.

"I can do anything! Type, file, make coffee! Please! Just ask for me! What harm can that do?" _More desperation_, she thought with a little shame, but she was beyond being deterred by things like shame at this point.

"I--Well--" Duo finally shut his mouth, seeing that no coherent sentence he wanted to form was going to make that look leave her face. "Alright, I'll ask tomorrow," he said, attacking his rice with renewed fervor and trying to lose himself in the TV show in front of him.

Hilde took another bite of ginger beef, silently doing a victory dance in her head.

A/N: You know what? You should leave a review. I'll have the next chapter up in about a week, I hope. Or maybe sooner.


	17. An Explosive Confrontation

A/N: Ha HA. Success. Finished another one. You get chapter 18 before the end of this month, and then some of you will probably wish to hurt me for what will happen next. See the news at the end of the chapter for why...

Disclaimer: I do not claim possession of Gundam Wing or any part of it. I'm not making any money from this work. I own nothing. Except for you. Dance for me, slave!

Deadly Beautiful - Chapter 17

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By danse

~*~

On April 28, Duo walked up to the reception desk outside of the heavy double doors that led to G's private lair. He leaned over the top of the high counter slightly and put on his most innocent face as he spoke. "Helen? Can I go in and talk to G for a few minutes?"

The elderly secretary looked at her charge's innocent face and didn't believe a square inch of it. She raised an eyebrow. "He's not in his office right now, darling. I don't know when he'll be back in."

"Is he in the building? Or anywhere where I can find him?" Duo pleaded.

Helen stapled some papers together. "He told me earlier this morning, before he left, that he was going to be in the training room for a while. That's all I can do for you."

Duo leaned over the counter and gave her a peck on the cheek. "Thanks, Helen," he said quickly, and left the reception room in a hurry, leaving a flustered but pleased woman to stare at the door behind him. It was almost noon; if he moved fast, maybe he could catch G before he left the training room.

Duo jogged down the hallway and bounded into the elevator, pressing the unmarked blue button and entering his personal four-digit code on a keypad, which would allow him to reach a restricted floor of the office building.

In a mostly uncharted zone between the basement and the first floor, accessible only by this elevator and a secret staircase in G's private office, was a floor dedicated to the clandestine operational training that Duo had gone through since the age of eight. He walked down a long hallway. In a small gym to his left, he heard a small group of agents sparring, perfecting their hand-to-hand combat skills. He had used that room for years, until he surpassed the other combatants' skills so much that they'd asked him to find someone else to practice with. They were scared of him, and they were jealous of his ability. It comforted Duo to know that no matter how much they practiced, they would never be truly good agents as long as they let their fear and jealousy of stronger people control them.

He walked on. On his right, he passed a corridor that led to several classrooms, where G's agents were taught about weapons of all kinds by highly trained experts. By the age of fourteen, Duo had reached a point where he knew enough about every different type of weapon to figure things out as he went along (which he'd always thought was more fun anyway), and he'd been able to drop that part of his education. He smirked; he remembered a few instances where he'd been able to correct his teachers. That had bruised some egos, and was probably another part of the reason he no longer had to walk down that particular hallway. Weapons experts could be such _prima donnas_.

Just past the weapons corridor, three doors down on the left side, was the explosives lab. Duo pushed open the swinging door. He was pretty sure that he would find G in here, if he was still on this floor.

Sure enough, when he walked in, two men were talking near a lab bench. They looked up; one was a slim, balding man with wire-rimmed spectacles and a graying goatee, and the other one looked like a mad scientist. The mad scientist was G. Duo found it laughably ironic that the man who looked as if he should have been the bomb expert was, in fact, the head of the whole operation.

"Hello, G. Good afternoon, Mr. Ivanov." Duo nodded at his boss and the bomb expert in turn. Ivanov grinned at him; Duo was one of his favourite students.

"'Afternoon, Duo," G said. "What do you need?"

Duo found the nearest counter that wasn't covered in bits of wire and used blasting caps and hopped up onto it, swinging his legs aimlessly as he sat. "I need to ask a favour of you, sir."

G raised both of his eyebrows and turned to Ivanov. "He called me 'sir'," he said conspiratorially. "He only breaks out the good manners when he wants something really big."

Duo did his best to look tolerant while the two men chuckled at his expense. _If he's laughing, he's in a good mood. This is good..._

When, at last, G gave him the 'What do you want?' look, Duo started on his spiel. "You know the whole thing with Hilde, right? Well, she's been looking non-stop for a job--we're talking like _everywhere_--but no one will hire her because she hasn't got any references." Duo paused to see if this was sinking in. G was still paying attention, which he took as a green light.

"What I'm asking is, would you be able to hire her as a secretary for out front or something? I know you push a lot of paper through the cover." Duo saw that G was about to object, and he plowed ahead. "She doesn't care what she ends up doing, but she needs some work experience that she can put on a resume. Look," he said, sliding off of the counter and walking over to his employer to look him in the eyes, "maybe she could just stay on while I'm on the mission. How long is that supposed to be, a month? That's enough time for her to put some money away and get experience, so that she can get a job somewhere else. How about it, G?" He restrained the urge to bite his lip nervously, instead staring G down, trying to use all the influence he could put in a look.

After a long pause that made both Duo and Ivanov uncomfortable, G spoke. "This girl seems to create nothing but problems for you, Maxwell," he said. "I suggest you take the advice of an old man who's been through these things many times before, and get rid of her while you still can. Things will only get worse for you if she stays."

Ivanov snorted derisively. "You are a morbid old man, G," he said in his thick Russian accent. "How bad can it get? She is just a girl. Not an army of them. Let the boy have his way. Besides, were you not just telling me, before he came in, about how your front manager needs more low-wage help? That is exactly what you are being handed. You of all people should know when to take the money and run."

G turned around to glare at his outspoken old friend, who stared back bemusedly. After a few seconds of silent standoff that Duo didn't fully understand, G sighed and scratched his nose, glaring at Duo grumpily. "All right," he acquiesced. "Bring her in tomorrow morning to start at nine. Make sure that she dresses appropriately." Having delivered his surrender speech, he left the room. "I'll talk to you some more later, Matvei," he called to Ivanov as he walked away.

Ivanov nodded absently, then looked at Duo, his eyes sparkling. "Well, my boy, that was certainly a fun conversation."

Duo got a pained look on his face, then shook his head. "Thanks for your help, Mr. Ivanov. I couldn't have done it without you."

Ivanov waved away the thanks. "It was no problem. Sometimes he needs to be knocked down a peg. So tell me more about this girl. Why is she having so much trouble finding a job?"

"She used to be a prostitute."

"Oh my," he said. "There is some trouble in finding references from a job like that, isn't there?" He started to laugh. "You took her in?"

"Yeah. Actually, she stole my wallet. I found her again by accident and ended up letting her sleep on my couch."

Ivanov raised an eyebrow. "She stole your wallet? And now she is living in your home?" He shook his head. "I cannot decide if you are compassionate or stupid."

Duo frowned, and Ivanov started chuckling at the look on his face, which eventually made Duo laugh.

"Do not listen to my teasing, Duo. You are a fine young man. Now, it has been a while since you have been down here to see me, I think. How would you like to see the new point charge detonator that we are developing? It has a radar transmitter and two failsafe mechanisms, and the whole thing will fit in a fountain pen. The advanced class has been helping with the process, but I am afraid that they do not understand the refined subtlety of a clever explosive..." Ivanov was a good man, and he knew his bombs like Michaelangelo knew his paints, but he was a bit eccentric.

Explosives were Duo's specialty, and he could see that Ivanov had a reason to be proud of this detonator. It was half-finished, but it was elegant. It actually would have fit in the top half of a fountain pen, using the metal tip to strengthen the signal. It was supposed to have a range of about two city blocks, with minimum interference, but they would test that rigorously later, Ivanov said with a wink. If Duo had had enough time to examine the blueprints and listen to Ivanov's excitedly detailed account of the building process and materials and concepts that had gone into the tiny mechanism, Duo would have been able to share more of the man's enthusiasm. As it was, he was leaving on a mission in two days, and he had some preparations to take care of before going home to tell Hilde his good news.

"I have to get going," he said. "I have some prep work to do with my equipment, and I have to be measured for a school uniform."

Ivanov nodded. "A month-long mission? The best of luck to you. Come back safely, with all of your extremities intact. That is the important thing." Ivanov himself was missing two of his toes; casualties from his glory days, designing bombs for the Soviets and the Germans in World War II. He'd done it purely for the money, he said; he had met Hitler personally and liked the man even less than he liked his ideals.

Duo nodded gravely, and suddenly gave the man a hug. When he drew back, he smiled grimly at the surprised look on Ivanov's face. "Comfort's hard to come by in this line of work," he explained. With a last nod, he left the room quickly and went back to the elevator.

***

At two o'clock, Duo went to a private conference room on the seventh floor, where a twenty-something tech analyst introduced him to his encrypted, high-security laptop, which he would be using to communicate with G at regular intervals during his mission. "It's got some games on it, too," the tech said with a wink. "The boss hasn't inspected it yet, but if you want, I could slip a program on there for downloading and playing music before I give it to you."

Duo stared. "Wouldn't that compromise the encryption stuff? People could hack me."

The tech grinned evilly. "Not with the firewalls _I've_ designed, they couldn't. You will have Fort Knox with Free Cell when I'm done with it."

Duo looked at him levelly. "Do whatever you want, man."

"...And here is your handy-dandy GPS, just in case," the tech continued, as if the last minute or so of conversation hadn't happened. "You never know when you'll need to know where you are within three square metres of accuracy."

Duo nodded and took the GPS. It was black, about the size of a cell phone, and flipped open. "Do I get those cool night vision glasses again?" he asked suddenly. "The best time to get the girl out would be at night."

"Sorry, man," the tech said. "You get the big, clunky goggles this time if you want night vision. Downsizing or something." He shrugged.

"Those would be kinda hard to conceal, don't you think?"

The tech frowned. "I'll talk to the higher-ups about it. Anyways, that's all you get from me this time. Happy trails, pardner." With that, the tech gathered some papers, the laptop, and the GPS, put it all back in a red plastic milk crate, and hauled it out of the conference room. Duo wouldn't actually get the equipment until he left for the mission.

Duo got up and stretched lazily, making some joints pop loudly, and then left the room to go meet the tailor.

***

"Oww! Christ, you stuck me with the pin!"

"Cry about it," the tailor said absently around a mouthful of other pins, as she pinned scraps of red cloth to him. "Arms out," she said, picking up a bright yellow tape measure.

Duo obediently stuck his arms out like an airplane. This was the worst experience of his life. He'd been here for half an hour already, and had been stabbed with pins three times so far. He'd been expecting to be measured and then dismissed, but the tailor was roughing together the uniform around him, on the spot.

"You've got strange dimensions," she'd said. "You're so skinny. I need to make sure it fits."

Duo stared at her elegantly upswept brown hair as she measured him around the chest, then scowled at the bright red daggers she called fingernails as she scribbled the number on a yellow legal pad.

"Are we nearly done here?" he whined. He was very uncomfortable.

She glanced up at him. "You can put your arms down, if you want. That might help."

He let his arms flop to his sides and made a funny noise. He'd been stabbed with yet another pin.

"Careful, hon. No sudden movements," the tailor said, trying not to laugh.

Duo glared at her, beaten but far from finished.

***

Hilde was napping peacefully on the couch when he came home, full of pinpricks and with his pride just starting to scab over. She made such a tranquil picture, curled up like that. He smiled wistfully as he extended a hand and covered most of her face with it.

She jolted awake, gasped, and started flailing wildly. When she started clawing at him, he hurriedly took his hand away and let her sit up. She glared at him; her face was red and her hair was messy. "What the hell did you do that for?" she demanded.

"I had a crappy afternoon. Got you a job," he said as he wandered into the kitchen.

"You what?!" She leaped over the end of the couch and bounded into the kitchen, where he was chugging a glass of water with his back to her.

He finished his water and put the glass down before turning to face her, slowly and deliberately. "I got you a job."

Her eyes got very wide, and before he could blink, she had grabbed him in a bone-crushing hug and almost knocked them both to the floor. "Ohmygodohmygodohmygod!" she squealed.

He pried her off, but couldn't help grinning. "You start tomorrow morning. Dress to impress."

She nodded excitedly. "I have clothes for it." Suddenly, she shot both arms into the air and triumphantly yelled, "_I have a job!!_"

"And, um..." Duo began, hoping she would hear him.

"...Yes?"

"I'm leaving in two days on a business trip. There's a lot of travelling. I'll probably be gone for about a month."

She sobered up a lot, and watched him uncertainly, seeing where this was going. "Oh...okay..."

"I need someone to look after this place. Would you like to do it for me? I mean, you might as well..."

She brightened, seeing that she would not be homeless for the next month. "Absolutely. It's no problem. It makes sense."

"Okay then." Duo smiled, feeling the best he had in a couple of weeks. The entire world wasn't against him after all.

A/N: I'm leaving on vacation on July 27, and won't be back until at least halfway through August. Due to this, and a few other reasons, I'm just going to go on hiatus from this fic for the whole month of August, and come back, fresh and relaxed, in September. I'm going to aim for July 24th for Chapter 18. Ta-ta...


	18. Welcome to Clearwater Academy

A/N: I am the master. Chapter 18 is not only on time, it's early. *victory pose* One thing, though. My beta, who has actually been to NYC, which is one up on me, helpfully pointed out that I need to move Clearwater Academy for it to fit into its required space. It's outside of town, now, and I changed chapter 14 to agree with that. If anyone noticed, that is...

PS. Thanks for waiting patiently, cos this chapter is ABOUT HEERO!!! Yay.

Disclaimer: The grass is green, the sky is blue. I don't own Gundam Wing, and neither do you. (^.^)

Deadly Beautiful - Chapter 18

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By danse

~*~

Heero gazed sleepily out the window at the large, stately trees streaking by. It had rained earlier that morning, and everything was still wet. The sky was a dull gray, and the wet leaves on the trees nearly glowed green against the almost black trunks. It looked beautiful, he had to admit.

Blinking hard to get the drowsiness out of his eyes, he shifted his gaze away from the window and looked around him instead. He was sitting in the plush, black backseat of a limousine, with a suitcase on the spacious floor beside him, and he was wearing a uniform consisting of black pants, shiny black dress shoes, a long, black tie, and a red jacket. The quiet chauffeur in the front was driving him to Clearwater Academy, which was a thirty-minute drive outside of New York City. If Heero sat up from his semi-slouch, he could see the ornate, wrought-iron gates of the school grounds looming in front of them.

After a minute, the car stopped to wait for the gates to open. A security guard nodded at them as they turned and drove up the long, sinuous driveway, which was lined with more giant trees. _This place is incredibly rich,_ Heero thought as they pulled up to the front of the school, where there was a large concrete plaza for dropping people off.

The chauffeur got out of the car and came around to open the door for Heero. Heero got out and let the driver take out his suitcase for him, as J had instructed him to allow. He had to give the impression that he was the child of a rich ambassador.

Heero turned to look at the school, and his eyes widened a little. It was monstrous. This was merely the front administrative building, but it was very, very big, and very stately. The front doors were ten feet tall and made of carved wood, with brass door handles that were each big enough for two hands. The building was fronted entirely by gray stone blocks that were each about a foot high and a foot and a half wide. Plate glass windows all over it reflected the cloudy sky and the dancing green leaves of the closest trees. The front steps were many and deep. Heero peered up at the apex of the roof, and was sure that he saw a gargoyle. This was an incredibly old building.

Heero turned to the driver, who also worked for J, playing many different parts, including the chauffeur facade. He hadn't batted an eye at the building, and calmly waited for Heero to assume his role. The boy mentally shook himself, and instantly became calm and unshakable. He reached out and took his suitcase from the driver, who smiled and said, "Good luck," before getting into the car and turning it around to leave.

Heero walked up the front steps and through the door without looking back.

He found the main office quickly, as he was already partially familiar with the layout of the school. He walked up to the secretary's desk and said, "My name is Hikaru Midorikawa. I'm a new student here."

The secretary smiled at him and stood up. "We've been expecting you, Mr. Midorikawa. Let me get your tour guide for you." She disappeared into a back office, and Heero took the precious moments he had to memorize the layout of the office.

Two minutes later, the secretary walked back into the room with the vice principal, Mrs. Landry, in tow. Mrs. Landry came forward and extended her hand to Heero, which he shook deferentially. She had a firm handshake that promised a no-nonsense demeanour, and her appearance was very prim and proper: her graying hair was in a tight bun from which no stray wisps escaped, and her navy blue women's suit made her look elegant. She could have been anywhere between 50 and 60 years old.

''Nice to meet you, Mr. Midorikawa," Mrs. Landry said in a calm alto. "I'm sure you'll be a great asset to our school. Shall we?" She gestured to the door, and they began their tour of the school grounds.

The grounds of Clearwater Academy held six large buildings, arranged vaguely in a star shape with the administrative building at the apex, and the largest building in the centre of the star. Directly behind the administrative building, in the centre, was the four-story General Academic Building, known as 'GenAc' to the students, where English, History, Geography, and other similar classes were held. The school library dominated the top two floors. To its right was the Science Building, complete with full labs, where science, math, and computer courses were conducted. To the left of GenAc was the Electives Building, which housed the cafeteria, gym, theatre, home economics lab, and shop class. Heero saw an oval running track just behind it, as well as a glimpse of a soccer goalpost.

The back two buildings on the property were the dormitories. Heero carried his suitcase as he and Mrs. Landry maneuvered along the web of paths between the buildings, working their way toward the dorms. The grounds were green and covered in trees, bushes, and flowers, which Heero thought was nice. It could provide a lot of hiding places.

They walked up the steps of the dorm on the left, and Mrs. Landry pushed open one of the enormous, wooden doors. "This is the boys' dorm," she said as they walked down the hallway to the stairs. "The other one is the girls' dorm. We have strict rules about the interactions of the two. Lights out is at eleven on school nights, twelve-thirty on weekends. At that time, we expect that everyone be back in their own rooms, getting ready for bed."

Her high heels clicked loudly on the stairs as they marched up to the second floor and walked down the hallway. "There will be no noise in the hallways and no loud music between lights out and seven AM, every day. No exceptions. There are caretakers in each dormitory building who patrol the floors after bedtime, making sure that no one is misbehaving. They can also be found at any time during the day and night if you have a problem related to the residences."

They stopped in front of a dark, wooden door marked '217,' and Mrs. Landry turned a key in the lock, swinging the door open to reveal a clean, uninhabited room. "I'm afraid that you'll be on your own for the time being," she said as he walked inside. She pointed to the left, at a door. "You have a bathroom through that door, there. If there's anything I've forgotten to tell you, I'm sure that your classmates will fill you in. You might not see many of them today, though, since it's Sunday. They all go off to their own devices, or go home for the weekend. You'll meet them all tomorrow. I'll leave you to your unpacking now, Mr. Midorikawa." She shut the door behind her, and the click of her shoes echoed down the hall behind her. When it faded to nothing, Heero looked around his new home, thankful that he was living alone. It would make things much easier for him.

First, he peeked into the bathroom. It was small and utilitarian, with blue and white tiles. There was a sink, a toilet, and a tub with a shower head that hid behind a mirrored, sliding door. He used the toilet, then looked at the main room. There were two beds, one on each side. He chose the one next to the bathroom, because it had an excellent view of the door, so that he could see people as soon as they opened it, and fatally wound them with his gun from the bed, if necessary.

There was a large closet on the right, which was obscured by the main door, when it was open. He slid the closet door open and saw that it was partitioned down the middle, with hangers on each side that were designed not to come off of the bar.

Between the door and the bathroom, there was a large dresser with a wide mirror over it. It had six drawers, three to a side, split down the middle.

At the head of the beds, there was a nightstand on each side with a small lamp. The window was large and took up most of that wall, and could be covered by gauzy curtains that blocked most of the light. There were also a few shelves on the side walls over each of the beds, and a small metal locker at the foot of each.

The vice principal had left his room keys on the dresser before she left; he grabbed them and found that as well as his room key, there was a small key that fit the padlock on the little metal box. He inspected the padlock thoroughly; it was a piece of crap, and could be broken with a blunt object, if you hit it hard enough. Child's play. Luckily, he had a small metal safe with him that would probably fit in this thing, and it had a lock that was strong and hard to pick. He'd tried it himself already, just to see, and it had taken him nearly ten minutes to open without the key.

Satisfied with the residence, and satisfied with the fact that he'd locked the door for privacy, Heero opened his suitcase and removed his little safe, setting it on the bed for the moment. He reached inside his shirt and pulled out a short chain with a key on the end of it. Not bothering to take it off of his neck, he leaned over and unlocked his safe, and then tucked the key away quickly. He opened the safe and took out a small, black, handheld bug sniffer, extending the antenna as he turned it on. Quickly, he swept every square inch of the bedroom and bathroom with it, and, finding nothing, got to work with unpacking.

First, he put away his shirts, ties, socks, pajamas, and underwear in his side of the dresser, and hung up his other two pairs of uniform black slacks and his other red jacket. Then he hung up his jeans, put in a pair of sneakers, and shut the closet door. After putting away his toothbrush and so on in the bathroom, he picked up the little safe, which was actually quite heavy for its size, and stowed it in the locker with as quiet of a clunk as he could manage. In it, he put the bug sniffer, his laptop, his extra ammunition, an encased hunting knife with a wicked blade, a set of lock picks, a pouch containing five deadly _shuriken_, and some important papers that he'd needed to bring with him. After a moment of thought, he reached under the back of his jacket and pulled his gun out of the waistband of his pants. He turned it over in his hands for a minute, frowning, and then decided that he wouldn't need it right now. Making sure that the safety was on, he put it in the safe and then closed both it and the locker, locking both.

Now he'd finished unpacking, and he gave the bed a longing look. The alarm clock beside it was five minutes fast, but his watch said that it was nearly 2:00 in the afternoon. He'd been up for nearly twenty-four hours straight, preparing until the last minute for the surprise mission, and then getting on an overnight flight across the Atlantic Ocean and not sleeping a wink, despite his trying. At 9:30, he'd arrived at the motel where he was meeting the chauffeur agent, eaten quickly, changed into his uniform, and once again not managed to sleep at all during the two-hour drive to the school. After arriving, he'd had to endure a long tour of buildings he was already acquainted with, carrying a suitcase that contained a heavy safe, while trying not to look anywhere near as tired as he felt.

Needless to say, Heero Yuy was ready for a nap.

He pulled the empty suitcase off of the bed and stuffed it in the closet, took off his jacket, tie, and shoes, half-unbuttoned his shirt, collapsed dramatically onto the warm, red bedspread, and slept for hours.

Around six, he woke up, looked at the clock, groaned sleepily, and got up to go and get something to eat in the cafeteria. It was nearly empty; he supposed he'd missed the dinner rush. That didn't disappoint him.

He walked back to his dorm slowly, enjoying the breeze that was tickling the trees. The ground had finally dried out since the rain that morning, but the sky was still overcast. He kept an eye out for his target, the reason why he was here, but he never saw her and didn't really expect to. He'd have plenty of time to look for her tomorrow, when his classes started.

Not necessarily happy, but at least content, Heero wandered back to his room, changed into his pajamas, brushed his teeth, and went to bed. His leg ached a little as he climbed under the sheets, but he was getting used to the pain from the bullet wound, which was fading anyway.

He yawned loudly, and soon drifted off to sleep.

A/N: I could use some sleep, too. I could also use air conditioning, but I don't have any. *dies* See you in a month!


	19. A Nasty Surprise

A/N: It's that time of year again, where you see all of those frightful drawings of yellow pencils and shiny, red, occasionally worm-infested apples at the mall. Ah, yes, school. I start tomorrow, and probably so do a lot of you, or sometime soon. What better way to celebrate than having a chapter that takes place at school, hmm? Keep in mind that burning down your local school is illegal.

Disclaimer: Gundams are big, the moon is too, I don't own the series, and neither do you. (^.~)

Deadly Beautiful - Chapter 19

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By danse

~*~

At 8:17 AM, on Monday, May 1, Duo hustled Hilde out the front door of the apartment and herded her down the stairs to the lobby, ignoring the muffled protests that occasionally came from behind the slice of toast that he'd stuffed in her mouth on the way out. They exploded out of the lobby door and she screeched to a halt on the steps to remove the toast from her mouth, glaring at him as if willing his head to explode. He ignored that too, and pulled her by the arm to his car, which was parked right in front of the door.

They were already seventeen minutes late, because both of them had slept in, and then there had been too many things to tell her how to look after for the month that he would be gone. They needed to be at the office by 8:30, and the morning traffic usually declared that it would take them half an hour to get there, no matter how hard they tried.

Duo grumbled anxiously and opened the passenger door of his Mustang for her. She slid in and smoothed her black skirt underneath her. Duo slammed the door, ran around the front of the car, jumped in, yanked his door shut, and started the engine with a roar, all in one fluid, frenzied motion.

"Ooh," Hilde sighed as she leaned into the black vinyl seat. "Never thought I'd get to ride in a vintage car like this to my first day of honest work." She stroked the dash lightly as she spoke, gazing at it almost reverently.

"Yeah, well..." Duo said distractedly, as he looked behind him and pulled away from the curb. Once they were crawling through traffic, he picked up the thread he'd started. "If I take the car to work instead of walking, my boss'll keep it for me while I'm gone. Don't want my baby to get keyed or stolen."

Hilde nodded and took a bite of toast, settling back with a smile and watching the buildings go by. Besides the skirt, she wore a blouse, nylons, and black, strappy heels that weren't too flashy. She looked very respectable, and still very pretty. Duo had caught himself staring at her legs a beat too long when she'd walked into the kitchen that morning. Her constant closeness made him nervous, because he didn't want to be too forward. He figured that, after selling herself to strangers for food money, she might not be interested in a physical relationship with him. Best to take it slowly, if things went that way.

That morning, Duo was battling extreme nervousness. Today he was starting the longest undercover mission he'd ever been assigned, and his imagination kept attacking him with scenarios of all of the things that could possibly go wrong: failure, capture, or worst of all, death. He kept his mind away from his fears by speeding whenever possible, weaving expertly between taxi cabs, trying to shave time from the trip.

While they were stopped at a red light, he rubbed his chest with one hand, pretending to scratch. Actually, he wanted to feel the necklace that he was wearing under his black t-shirt. He'd lied a little, when he'd told Hilde that he had nothing worth stealing in his apartment. He did have one thing: a silver cross on a chain, which he'd had all his life. He'd dug it out of the bottom of his underwear drawer that morning for the first time in a few years. He was pretty sure that it had belonged to a mother he couldn't remember. All he knew for certain was that it was special to him and that it brought him good luck when he needed it. Today he definitely thought he needed it. Its weight and shape felt reassuring.

Thanks to Duo's lead foot and an unbelievable two-block tunnel through traffic (which he accredited to the luck of his necklace), they managed to get to the office at 8:33, by the clock in Duo's car. He pulled into a narrow alley near the building and waved at a security guard as they entered an underground parking lot. It was one floor, below the basement area of the building, and few people used it. He found a spot, and they ran from there to the front of the building (no direct access from the garage, because the basement was right below the high-security training area), going up the granite steps to the glass lobby doors as fast as Hilde's high heels would allow.

Navigating easily through the somewhat crowded lobby, Duo glided up to the secretary's desk and leaned over it, giving the woman his warmest gaze. "This is Hilde..." He suddenly paused and whipped around to face Hilde. "What was your last name again?" he whispered urgently.

"Schbeiker," Hilde snapped, exasperated. "I've told you twice already!"

Tuning her out, he smiled at the secretary. "Hilde Schbeiker. She's supposed to start today."

The secretary returned his smile and turned to her computer. A few seconds later, after tapping a few keys, she said, "Schbeiker...ah. Here we go. She's supposed to be on the third floor."

"Thanks, honey," Duo purred. He led Hilde away by the hand, leaving the blushing secretary to melt under the force of his voice.

"Anytime..." the young woman whispered huskily to his retreating back.

Duo dragged his hapless charge to the elevator, brusquely pointing things out and talking so fast that she couldn't follow half of it. She just gazed around helplessly, awed by the number of bustling people, and the profusion of glass, honey-coloured marble, and rich wood that decorated the lobby. She felt woefully inadequate to work in such a place. _Everybody here must be so smart!_ she thought. _And this place is so clean!_ She goggled at everything, only stopping to rest her aching head when they were in the elevator, which was much smaller, and empty except for them.

The third floor was stereotypical office space. Industrial grey carpet kept the floors from getting too exciting, cubicles were crammed in every usable space, and the humming ring of telephones provided musical accompaniment to the choreography of men and women walking around with stacks of paper and half-empty pots of coffee. Duo led her up to the floor manager's desk, pushed her forward, and said, "This is Hilde Schbeiker. She's supposed to start here today." He put a hand on her shoulder and whispered, "Good luck," before walking back to the elevator. Behind him, the manager immediately swept Hilde into a tour of the office, while Hilde cast nervous glances back over her shoulder at Duo's back, until it disappeared behind the elevator doors.

***

Duo reclined tiredly in the back of the little silver car, playing with the red lapel of his uniform jacket as he watched huge trees glide past the windows. The sun filtered through the tree branches, and occasionally he had to squint in a blinding sunbeam. All of his nervous energy had fled by now, leaving only fatigue. The silver cross rested against his chest and his trusty Glock handgun was locked inside his suitcase, in the trunk.

The car turned, rumbled through enormous wrought-iron gates, and pulled up a long driveway, continuing for what seemed like miles before stopping in the plaza in front of the main building.

He sat up slowly and got out of the car, staring at his highly polished black shoes. The butterflies that had been in his stomach earlier that morning had recently cemented together into a cold, heavy weight, and he wasn't sure which feeling he disliked more.

The man who had been driving the car pulled Duo's suitcase out of the trunk and set it down on the concrete between them. Duo looked up at his face. The man was tall and slender, with hair about the same colour as Duo's, and was wearing a navy blue business suit. The woman who had been in the front passenger seat stood beside him. She was an inch shorter than Duo, with long, dark blonde hair, a pixie face, and a nose that looked a lot like Duo's. Her black women's suit and stylish glasses completed the couple's 'on the way to work' image. To a passerby, they would have looked like his parents.

The male agent stepped forward and gave Duo a bear hug, which Duo returned, soaking up comfort from the false goodbye. The female agent hugged Duo too, embracing him for a long time, like a mother who was close to tears. "Good luck, kid," she whispered in his ear. "Come back with all your extremities intact."

When she backed away, Duo gave her a strange look. Did she know Ivanov? Probably. She gave him a secret wink and a grin as he picked up his suitcase. He turned his back to them and marched up the many steps to the front doors. He heard the car doors slam shut behind him, and he turned to watch the car disappear down the driveway before going inside. When he found the office, he was going to get the grand tour, and start classes after lunch.

***

Heero sat silently in the back of his English class and stared at the dotted ceiling tiles. This was the third period of the day, the last one before lunch, and he'd already been able to establish that his target wasn't at school that day. In first period and this one, there was an empty seat in the front of the room that was surrounded by a phalanx of chattering girls. Occasionally, one of them, or another curious student, would sneak a glance at him, but he'd completely ignored them so far, so they left him alone.

He didn't even bother to pay attention to the teacher, who was droning on incessantly about extended metaphors. Heero was very intelligent, and already had the equivalence of a general studies college degree, thanks to J. Instead, he kept himself entertained by alternately doing mental exercises that kept his brain sharp, and keeping up a scathing internal monologue in Japanese about the incompetent, boring teacher, occasionally picturing gruesome, torturous deaths that he could inflict upon her.

Heero fervently hoped that his target was just away sick today, because he didn't know how long he could put up with this if it was all for nothing.

***

Duo grabbed a sandwich from the cafeteria at lunch and killed the time by wandering aimlessly around the grounds. He was half enjoying the sun and the greenery, and half watching for signs of Relena. He didn't expect to see her right away, so it wasn't a big deal that he didn't.

After lunch, he found his history class in the GenAc and opened the door. The room was almost full, and he glanced swiftly around, searching every face. Relena was supposed to be in here, but he didn't see her. Most of the students were in their seats, twisted around and talking to each other in little groups. One lone guy sat in the empty back corner, staring at the ceiling in silence.

Suddenly, Duo found the next best thing to Relena: a single empty seat in the middle of a group of giggling girls. That was probably where she normally sat. Turning on the charm, he adjusted the way his schoolbag sat on his shoulder and sauntered over to the group, preparing to do one of the things that he did best.

"Hello, ladies," he purred, in his most effective honey-toned voice. Their conversation froze, and they all turned as one to look at the source of the sexy voice. Suppressing a satisfied smirk, he started his act. "I'm new here. Is this seat taken?" He pointed at the empty desk.

The girl who sat right next to it, who had long, curly brown hair and hazel eyes, stuttered and blushed. "U-um, normally it is. But, uh..."

__

Too nervous. Duo swept closer, his eyes turning a smoky purple and giving off waves of heat. "What's your name, gorgeous?" It might have been a tacky line, but it did the job.

Nervous under the attention of not only Duo, but the rest of her friends, the girl was incapable of speech for a second. Finally she croaked, "R-Roxie. Wh-what's yours?"

"I'm Scott. I'm sorry, I think I interrupted you. What were you saying?" This manipulation was too easy.

She spoke more confidently now, warming up to him. "It's normally taken, but since Relena's not here, she probably won't mind if you sit in her place until she comes back." She shrugged in what she obviously hoped was an offhand way, and her eyes told him that she was praying that he would sit there.

"Ohh, that's too bad," he answered smoothly**. **His ability to sound casual and maneuver the conversation his way was obviously much better than Roxie's. "Where'd she go?"

"On vacation. She didn't say where. I think she went with her parents. Left on Friday after school."

"Well, I guess I'll meet her when she gets back," Duo said, and sat in the empty seat. He'd found out all he needed to know, although the news didn't make him happy. He could picture what G would say: _'If you'd left last Monday, when I told you to, you wouldn't have missed her!'_

The thought of the 'I told you so' lecture to come dampened Duo's mood considerably. Grumpily, he pulled out his binder and forced himself to sit through a History class on a subject that he already knew inside out. He'd been tutored by one of G's teachers over the years, and had effectively finished high school eight months ago.

***

The vice principal, Mrs. Landry, was waiting for Duo when he walked out of his last class of the day, and escorted him out of the Science Building and across the grounds toward the boys' dorms. As they strolled past the back of the GenAc, Duo winked at a girl walking by him, turning to watch the view from behind as she smiled and walked away.

Landry carried his suitcase, which he'd left in the main office that morning, and they walked together into the boys' dorm building and up the stairs as she listed off the dorm rules for him. They reached the second floor and marched down the hallway, her heels clicking loudly on the wooden floor.

"Your roommate will probably be around at this point. I waited until now to show you your room so that I could make sure that you met him, rather than showing you earlier, when you came." She led the way briskly down the hall and stopped in front of a dark wooden door that said, '217'. She knocked briskly on the door, and called, "Mr. Midorikawa?"

***

Heero had walked into his room and collapsed on his bed just ten minutes earlier, ready for a nap, and the sharp knock on the door startled him awake. He heard Landry's voice carrying distinctly through the heavy wood of the door and angrily wondered what in the world she could want.

Slowly, he heaved himself to his feet and straightened his tie a bit on the way across the room. He unlocked the door and swung it open to see her directly in front of him, a smile on her face.

"Good afternoon, ma'am," he managed.

"Good afternoon. I hope we didn't disturb you. Do you remember that I said that you probably wouldn't be on your own for long? Well, you have a new roommate already." She stepped to the side to reveal someone standing behind her, and introduced him. "Mr. McNeil, this is Hikaru Midorikawa."

Heero stared at the person she presented. He (it must have been a 'he', since they were in the boys' dorms) was about Heero's height, with blue eyes and very long, brown hair that was pulled back in a braid. His nose was slightly pointed, and the deep scratch across the bridge was scabbed over.

Heero's eyes widened in shock and anger as a red haze descended over everything. _You! _His hand clenched convulsively at his side, trying of its own volition to choose between gun, shuriken, or strangling.

The other boy presented his right hand. "Call me Scott," he said cheerfully.

***

Duo had been wondering who he would be stuck with, and the sight when the door opened surprised him. The guy who was standing there, looking like he'd just been woken up, was the loner from History class. At the time, Duo had been more concerned with the lack of Relena to notice him much, and the guy had been counting ceiling tiles or something anyway. Now, though, when they were barely three feet apart, all Duo could see was the guy's eyes. They were like twin chips of ice, the deep blue colour of a glacier, and just as cold. There was something about them that pierced right through him, hooking deep inside his chest and making him feel like his bones were frosting over.

Fighting to tear his gaze away, Duo stuck out his hand. "Call me Scott," he said, in what he hoped was a cheerful voice. After staring at his hand for too long, Hikaru took it awkwardly and shook it, squeezing a little harder than Duo would have liked.

"Excellent," Landry exclaimed from beside him. Duo jumped; he'd forgotten she was still there. "Well, I have things to do. Mr. Midorikawa, if you could show Mr. McNeil where everything is. I'm sure you'll get along great." The two boys stared at each other as the click of her heels on the floor faded to echoes, then silence.

Hikaru turned around and went inside the room, flopping onto his bed and draping an arm over his eyes. Duo was left standing in the doorway with his suitcase, and walked inside nervously. "Uh..." he tried. "Where's the bathroom?"

Hikaru didn't bother to look at him. "There are three doors in this room," he growled, in a voice that was deep and a little gravelly. "You've already been through one of them. You have a fifty-fifty chance of finding the bathroom on the first try." And with that, he rolled over, so that his back was to Duo, and apparently went to sleep.

__

Warm welcome, Duo thought sarcastically. _No wonder he sits alone. _He shivered, though the room was warm. Hearing Hikaru's voice for the first time had thickened the frost on his bones, and Duo could have sworn his lips were turning blue. _You're just like ice,_ he decided, staring at his new roommate's inert form. _I'm gonna get frost-bitten if I don't watch it..._

Duo set his suitcase down on the other bed and found the bathroom on the first try.

A/N: Doesn't that just make you soooo excited to go back? Yeah, I bet.


	20. Everybody's Got A Secret

A/N: I had a piece of paper with the timeline plotted from the beginning of the fic through the end of Chapter 25, and I've lost it completely. I also lost a page full of character backgrounds that was with it. *sniff* Life hates me. Enjoy the chapter, though... 

Disclaimer: Gundams are big, the moon is too, I don't own the series and neither do you. (^.~) 

Deadly Beautiful - Chapter 20

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By danse

~*~

Six days after being dropped off near Athens by Quatre, Trowa strolled down a hallway of the base where he lived, whistling a tune and with his hands in his pockets. For two days after returning, he'd been subjected to the most thorough debriefing he'd ever experienced. He'd been kept in a little, windowless room containing a cot, a table, and two chairs. It felt like a prison--no belt, no shoelaces, and no weapons of any kind. When he woke up in the morning, the questions started and were interrupted only by meals. He'd decided on the drive from Athens what his story would be--after risking his neck (he would admit to that) to get the papers he'd brought back, he'd had to hide out in several different places as he made his way from Saudi Arabia to Egypt, where he'd stowed away on a cargo ship heading to Greece. He thought somehow that the mention of Quatre and the Maganacs would not be a smart move. Let S think what he wanted about who had assassinated the son of Dekim Barton.

Strangely, S hadn't bothered to explain away the circumstances of Trowa sharing a name with the dead man, although his identity had surely been all over the news. Trowa thought that it would be smart not to mention that, either. If S had wanted him to know, he would have said something.

Real food, a shower, and the more comfortable bed in his own room had been the most pressing issues after Trowa had been released from his debriefing. Now, though, he was ready to find out what had happened to Catherine while he was gone. This had been his task for the past three days, after taking care of his own comfort. He started out by asking the new secretary what had happened. She'd responded by snapping at him that she was just a temporary replacement, and how was she supposed to know anyway? If anyone knew what was good for them, they wouldn't ask too many questions.

Thus dissuaded from talking to her anymore, he turned instead to the rest of the base, thinking Catherine had been transferred. The compound was actually quite large. It was hollowed out of the inside of a small mountain, and consisted of two levels which were a maze of corridors. Taking his time and trying not to look too suspicious, Trowa spent two and a half days searching every room he was authorized to enter, and never found a trace of her.

He went to the Playroom often, hoping he'd find her in there throwing knives at the target on the wall, but he only managed to surprise three other agents who had taken up sparring in there. They were a little frightened of him, since he was something of a legend among the new recruits, and after he surprised them three times in two days, they stopped using that workout room in favour of the others, which he rarely entered.

Now Trowa was wandering down the hall towards the cafeteria, wondering what options were left to him. He'd asked as few people as possible for help, because he didn't want it getting back to S that he was looking for Catherine so actively. Nevertheless, word had gotten around in a few of the far wings and now when he walked into those rooms, he got negative answers before even asking his question.

Just as Trowa was about to push open the door to the cafeteria, it swung open under another power. A big, heavyset man in a dark beard and a red shirt walked into the hall and nodded cordially at him as they passed each other. Trowa went inside for food, not noticing the strange, calculating look that the big man gave his back before walking away.

***

Duo sat cross-legged on his bed in dorm room 217 at the school, with his laptop in front of him. It was just after supper, and he was composing his nightly message to G. Last night, he'd just given an 'all's well' message, saying that he'd arrived with no problems and not mentioning the lack of Relena. Tonight, though, he figured that he'd better come clean about it, and wrote this:

'Grandpa,' (this was G's code name,) 'No problems today, except one. Target's not here, went on vacation with Dad. Return time unknown. The roast beef is delicious. Reaper.'

Smirking at his little addition, he ran the encoding program and sent off the message. That finished, he put his legs straight out in front of him on the bed and leaned back against the wall as he started his music server. Quickly, he threw together a playlist of heavy rock music and cranked up the volume, staring across the room at the other bed as he sat quietly.

Hikaru was lying on his bed, reading the novel they were studying in English. Duo studied him absently, lingering mostly on his face, which wore an expression of concentration, and traces of annoyance at the bass that was suddenly thumping through the room. Hikaru's eyes were hard to see from this angle. Even though every time he looked at that frozen glare he felt cold and mangled, Duo couldn't seem to stop looking. Perhaps he wanted to see if it still felt the same every time. He switched his gaze to the ceiling and stared at it instead, completely ignoring his own English homework.

***

Although his new roommate had thought he'd fallen asleep the day before, Heero had been wide awake, plotting murder. How was he going to kill Scott (which probably wasn't his real name) in a school full of people? This opportunity had been handed to him, though, and he wasn't about to pass it up. His chance would come.

Relena still wasn't at school, though. The desk he'd judged to be hers in each class--surrounded by airhead girls--was being filled by Scott. If she came back, killing Scott would jeopardize his mission to get her. However, if she didn't come back...it was open season. He wasn't sure which he wanted more between the mission and revenge.

He was lying on his bed right now, right across from the boy he wanted to kill, reading the idiotic novel they'd been assigned in English class for a lack of anything better to do. Scott was sitting on his bed, typing away on his laptop, which was fine until he stopped. After that he started playing music too loudly. It sounded like Metallica. Heero growled like an angry tiger and glared at his roommate. Scott was staring at the ceiling, apparently lost to the world.

Heero turned the page of his book, exercising all of his patience to keep himself from smothering the bastard with a pillow.

***

The sun was going down in northern Italy, and a pretty young woman sat on a bench in a park, reading a romance novel by the glow of a streetlight overhead. Couples and families strolled by, talking to each other in musical Italian as the woman read. Eventually, a heavyset man with a dark beard wandered into the park and sat down on the other end of the bench, opening a paper bag and throwing breadcrumbs at some straggling pigeons. After a moment, he spoke in a low voice.

"He's been looking for you," he said, watching the pigeons and the people.

"Is it worth the risk?" Catherine murmured, turning a page.

"He's been through the entire base. Searched every broom closet." His lips barely moved as he spoke.

She scratched her nose with a manicured nail. "Arrange a meeting for me. I'll get in."

His eyes widened, and he almost looked straight at her, but stopped himself. "That's a bit dangerous."

She stared steadily at her book. "On the threshold, then. There's a guard..." She trailed off. "I can do it."

"Where and when?"

A child laughed on the other side of Catherine, down the path. She looked at the happy family, walking joyously along in the evening light. "In two days. 2200 hours. East entrance on the first level." It was far away from S' office.

"_Buona sera_," he murmured, throwing the last of his breadcrumbs to the pigeons. He got up and left without saying another word.

Catherine sighed, stretched, and turned another page.

A/N: Yay, Italian. Yay, Babelfish. FYI, 'buona sera' means 'good evening' or 'good night' in Italian. Do ya know who Cathy's friend is? Do ya? Do ya? Huh? Tell me who you think it must be. Oh yeah, I guess I should mention that Cathy's fluent in Italian, and actually not much else. You'll find out more later.


	21. Kaboom

A/N: This chapter's twice as long as usual. That should please Link. :P Also, my computer is crap and won't convert this to HTML, so //blah// is thoughts and *blah* is emphasis. Whee, we're gettin' some plottage this chappie, we are. Enjoy. I'm working on a DB website. I also have the flu. *sniffle*  
  
Disclaimer: Gundams are big, the moon is too, I don't own the series, and neither do you. (^.~)  
  
Deadly Beautiful - Chapter 21  
  
By danse  
  
~*~  
  
Duo bounced into the Electives Building on Wednesday, as happy as he could ever be in the morning at a place where the cafeteria wouldn't serve coffee to students ('it's unhealthy!'). It was the last period before lunch, he had gym class, and life was good.  
  
That morning, he'd woken up to a message on his laptop from G. Apparently there was a conference in Washington, D.C. extending from that Monday until Friday, and the Vice Foreign Minister was supposed to be in attendance. Obviously, Relena was with him. Duo was to stay at the school until she returned. This meant that he wasn't in trouble.  
  
He entered the boys' change room, put on his gym strip (white shorts and a red shirt with the school crest), and jogged into the huge gym with the rest of his class. He noticed Hikaru out of the corner of his eye, tying his shoelace. The gym teacher stood in the middle of the group of students and blew his whistle to get their attention.  
  
"Today," he said in a voice that projected into the corners, "We're playing basketball. Pinnies," he held up a fistful of yellow pullover pinnies, "versus shirts. Here we go." He started randomly tossing pinnies at people. Duo didn't get one; he was on the 'shirts' team.  
  
This had to be the best class ever. If there was one sport that Duo loved, it was basketball. He'd played street games whenever he got the chance, and could remember watching older kids playing beyond chain link fences when he was seven or eight. Excitedly, he glanced around him, seeing who was on his team. A couple of girls who were examining their fingernails and talking, their shirt sleeves rolled up onto their shoulders; two guys who were just standing there, a skinny one with glasses and the other with biceps that were probably almost as big as Duo's thighs...and Hikaru. Duo frowned. He was a hard one to judge. You couldn't tell by looking at him whether or not he was athletic at all, or even cared what was going on.  
  
His thoughts were interrupted by another screech of the whistle: game on. Duo watched Biceps move in for the tip-off and promptly lose it to a wiry blond guy on the other team. Promptly, Duo moved into a forward position and the game began.  
  
The ball moved back and forth across the court aimlessly for a few minutes, as it was dribbled up, stolen or intercepted, and dribbled back down. Duo hung back at first, watching and calculating, but he got impatient and finally leaped to snatch a pass out of midair. He came down on his left foot with the ball in his right hand, and he was off. He shot down the court, dribbling the ball in front of him as he went, and wove right between two guards for a graceful lay-up, the first points of the game.  
  
Now that the hard part was over with, the whole class got competitive. The other team drove harder, and the shirts' ineffectual defense (the two girls and Glasses) let four points through. Finally, Hikaru caught a rebound and took off up the court, in the same way that Duo had. He ran into opposition past the centre line that was about eight inches taller than he was, and had to stop.  
  
Duo ran up to an open position and waited. Hikaru cast around for an exit, and finally settled on Duo. The pass had the velocity of a bullet, and it nearly knocked the wind out of Duo when he caught it at the chest. He dribbled it for four steps and grinned as he sank a jump shot to tie the game.  
  
Now that teamwork, and Hikaru's ability, had been established, they became unstoppable. Both of them took off with the ball whenever possible, dodging and weaving around the opposition with a speed attainable only with their kind of training. They passed the ball back and forth so fast and hard that no one else would dare to put a hand on it. One particularly memorable play at the very end of the game started when Duo caught a rebound on their end. He only got two steps before he was blocked, and he looked around frantically. Hikaru was halfway down the court. Biceps was probably in his blind spot. Duo turned his back to the guard, crouched, and suddenly exploded into the air, lobbing the ball at Hikaru in midair. Not even stopping to see if he'd caught it, Duo took off down the court, fighting for the open.  
  
Hikaru caught the ball on the tips of his fingers and moved like a freight train towards the basket. He was in a straight line with the backboard, and no one was getting in his way just yet. They were all two feet behind him. He suddenly saw Duo standing in front of the basket, and obviously saw the mischievous look on his face, because he didn't falter at all when Duo moved. Duo knelt down and laced his fingers together in front of him, creating a step in the air. Duo saw the feral intensity in Hikaru's eyes as he stepped on Duo's braced hands and was launched into the air. He pulled a tight somersault in the air, keeping himself up, and slam-dunked the ball. Duo watched as his roommate swung by his hands from the rim for a moment and then dropped to the ground as easily as a cat. With a brief nod of acknowledgement, he brushed past Duo and walked majestically to the change room. Duo noticed that he was favouring his right leg as he walked. They'd won by about twenty points, and the rest of the class was staring at Duo, and Hikaru's retreating back, with a mix of amazement and jealousy.  
  
Duo shrugged and sauntered into the change room without looking back. They probably wouldn't be allowed on the same team for basketball again.  
  
***  
  
G was in his office, leaning back in his chair and looking out the window. He chewed a ham-and-cheese sandwich thoughtfully as he traced his gaze along the skyline. The lunchtime crowd was streaming out of office buildings in pursuit of their favourite bistros and coffee shops. He saw the swarms of people, but didn't really pay attention, nor did he really notice his food. He was thinking, trying to find an answer to a problem he'd noticed developing.  
  
He hadn't failed to notice the feelings of rebellion starting to come from Duo recently. It had a little to do with his age, G knew, and a lot to do with the sudden presence of the girl. The best way to stop a revolution is to prevent it, or at the very least predict and prepare for it. But how to get to Duo so that he could keep him obedient? The boy would chafe under a short leash.  
  
A sharp knock on the door interrupted his thoughts. He spun around in his chair, swallowed a bite of sandwich, and called, "Come in."  
  
The wooden door swung open to reveal Helen with a short stack of folders.  
  
"What's this?" he asked, setting the sandwich down and arranging himself at his desk.  
  
"This month's recruits," she answered, setting the files on his desk and smiling at him. New agents to G's service spent an average of three months working in the cover office under surveillance while thorough background checks were done on them. Every month, four or five graduated from the front and started training as an agent.  
  
"Oh, yes. Thank you." He picked up the top folder and started looking through it. He approved every recruit himself before they moved to agent status. He dimly heard the door close behind Helen as she left again.  
  
Half an hour later, he'd gone through the seven files on his desk and rejected two. He sat for a second in the calm silence of his office, deliberating. How best to restrain a volatile, teenaged super-agent?  
  
//The same way you restrain any agent,// he thought. //Find out what they would risk their lives for and kidnap it.// He couldn't think of a better idea, so he jumped in with both feet and picked up the file folders to take them out to Helen.  
  
"These ones," he said, handing her the stack of two files, "are rejected. These," he handed her the stack of five, "are approved. Oh, before I forget, how has Hilde Schbeiker been doing?"  
  
Helen looked surprised. "All right, I suppose. She's only been here for a little over a week. Efficient, hardworking, and sensible, I hear." Helen was overseer of the front operation, and knew about all of the staff they employed.  
  
G nodded. "Good, good. Add her to the training group, will you? They'll all start tomorrow."  
  
Her eyes went very wide. "Add *her?* To the training agents? *Why?*"  
  
"Please just do as I ask. That's why I pay you, my dear." G walked away and left her sputtering in confusion. She'd do as he asked. Eventually he'd tell her why he did it.  
  
//Duo, my lad, you're stuck with me now. I'll turn your little friend into a killing machine, just like you... She might even be a valuable asset to me,// he thought as he shut his door behind him and went back to his lunch.  
  
***  
  
Lunchtime on the Eastern Seaboard was after dinner in the Mediterranean, and Trowa was just leaving the cafeteria when someone suddenly put a hand on his shoulder from behind. He stopped, tensed, and struck out with a kick to the rear, turning and bringing his arm around to pulverize whoever had been stupid enough to do such a thing.  
  
The portly man who'd grabbed his shoulder had stepped back and caught part of the kick in his stomach, but he was still able to deflect the punch aimed for his head. He grabbed Trowa's wrist and held it to the side, twisting the teenager until he was doubled over for fear of breaking his arm.  
  
"Nice to see you, too," the man rumbled softly in accented English.  
  
"Let go of my fucking arm," Trowa snarled at the man's shoes, because that was all he could see. It was promptly released and he stood upright, rubbing his wrist. "You sneak up behind me, that's what you get. You should know better."  
  
"Silence was a bit of an issue, and I didn't really expect you to be so violently paranoid." The man chuckled softly. "I have a message for you."  
  
"From who?"  
  
The man looked around and stepped closer, almost whispering the name in Trowa's ear. "Ms. Bloom."  
  
"I don't know anyone by that name," Trowa answered, stepping back.  
  
"I am sure that you do. Catherine Bloom, the woman who you have been looking for."  
  
So her last name was Bloom. "What do you know about her?" Trowa demanded.  
  
The man held up his hands in surrender. "I have a message," he repeated.  
  
Trowa studied the man's face. "Tell me," he said finally.  
  
Again the man stepped close and whispered in his ear. "Tomorrow night, at 2200 hours. The East Entrance on the first level. Your questions will be answered then. Tell no one, because it is very dangerous. Come alone, and be on time." With that, he stepped away, patted Trowa strongly on the back, and walked down the hallway, disappearing around a corner.  
  
Trowa felt uneasy about trusting the word of someone who he didn't even know, but he wanted to find out what was going on. What other choice did he have? He sighed, shook his head, and started down the corridor, heading for the Playroom.  
  
***  
  
Wufei relaxed on a bench in a neatly manicured park, basking in the sunlight. He was in Washington, situated thirty feet from the plaza of the building where the conference was taking place. He had spent the last three hours discreetly watching people walking in and out over a thick novel, studying their faces and trying to find any of four people in particular. According to the intelligence he'd paid for, one of them probably wouldn't be there, but the other three almost certainly would. He hadn't been able to spot any of them yet.  
  
His attention was periodically distracted by a peaceful protest going on near a fountain in the middle of the plaza. A group of about twenty people was chanting their displeasure over the gouging they were getting on health care in 'the land of the free'. They had assorted maladies: four were in wheelchairs, one of them with a drip bag attached to the back, her helper keeping an eye on it as they both held signs. One middle aged man leaned against the fountain, bracing his leg cast on the pavement while his crutches leaned beside him.  
  
One of the two people leading the protest, a tall, blonde woman with a high forehead, held a large sign portraying the medical symbol of a staff and snakes, altered so that it looked more like a dollar sign. Her hair hung in two twists down her front, and she carried a megaphone. A news crew was taping the demonstration and taking sound bites for a quick blip on the evening news. Wufei kept finding that his eyes wandered over to her. //Strong and vocal,// he thought.  
  
At last, he saw one of his targets out of the corner of his eye: the Vice Foreign Minister, Edward Darlian. He was talking to a news crew as he walked inside the building. The crew had to stop at the doors. Wufei scanned the crowd again. //She has to be here, too,// he thought. Suddenly, he spotted her on the other side of the fountain. She was unnoticed by the press, who probably didn't know who she was. Her blonde hair was up in a bun, and she was talking to a taller woman whose hair shone blackly in the sunlight. Wufei squinted as he stared at the tall one. She looked familiar. Then he twigged. //It's her! All three at once!// The hair was entirely the wrong colour, and she wasn't wearing glasses like she was supposed to be, but it had to be Treize's assistant. The face was the same shape. He got up nonchalantly from his seat, putting his book in the backpack he carried and slinging it on as he walked away, slipping quietly through the people and greenery to get a closer look at Lady Une.  
  
***  
  
Relena scratched the back of her neck absently. Besides the weekend, when she'd had her dad all to herself to go sightseeing around Washington, this trip was kind of boring. She'd been left to wander around nearby while her father was in meetings. She was lucky to have found someone to talk to. She studied Maria's face for the umpteenth time. She was so pretty, and had such a glamorous job. Imagine being a reporter and being able to travel the world, always in the middle of the action!  
  
Maria was telling her, in her husky voice, about a recent trip to Jordan, reporting on Middle Eastern strife. "...And the cameraman, Daniel, and I had to walk three miles to the outpost, looking for water. That wasn't as bad as the day before, though. We were trying to get some shots of the West Bank, and an Israeli soldier came out of nowhere and started yelling at us! He wasn't speaking any language I know, though, so we didn't understand a word of what he said. Then he levelled an Uzi at us and started gesturing to the side with it." Maria made motions with her hands as if she was the guard. "You wouldn't believe how they toss around dangerous weapons in those places! So we had to walk to the guard building with our hands in the air, and Daniel with his camera on his back when it's ninety-five degrees in the shade. He took the film out of the camera and burned it in a metal garbage can! Horrible. We got some stills on a little 35mm camera as we left, though, and they never noticed. We got our story," she said triumphantly.  
  
Relena was captivated. What a brave woman! She'd been through the worst of situations and come out on top, suave and sophisticated all the time. //I want to be like that,// she decided.  
  
Suddenly Maria's cell phone rang. "I'm sorry, Relena, I have to answer this," She excused herself and got up as she answered the phone, wandering around as she talked too low for Relena to hear.  
  
//Probably being briefed on her next assignment,// Relena thought enviously as she watched Maria pace back and forth. //I wish my life was more exciting...//  
  
***  
  
Lady Une was grateful to hear her phone ring. It tore her away from the girl in front of her and let her get on with her assignment. "Talk to me," she said, a prearranged greeting.  
  
Treize's voice filled her ear. "How is the operation going?" he asked.  
  
"Smoothly," she answered. "So far, so good."  
  
"During the press conference, Lady. You know the drill."  
  
"Yes, sir. I'll leave the bomb in the bathroom directly behind the stage." She paused. "It *will* go through the wall?"  
  
"Yes. It's strong enough to blast a hole through a foot of concrete. If you position it right, the blast will engulf everything within a forty-foot radius of the stage."  
  
"And the girl?"  
  
"If she goes, too, that's an added bonus. We'll have less to worry about with our other plans."  
  
"Yes, sir."  
  
"Good luck, Lady."  
  
"Thank you, sir." She hung up the phone. It was 2:00 now. The press conference started at 3:00. The bomb would go off at 3:15, killing Edward Darlian and hopefully also the brat sitting on the side of the fountain.  
  
As she tucked the phone back inside the front pouch of her purse, she surreptitiously patted the main compartment of the bag. It contained as big of a block of C-4 as would fit, as well as a tiny detonator with a five- minute timer.  
  
She turned back to Relena, who was still sitting on the edge of the fountain, staring into space. She'd been forced to get to know her in the hopes of getting some more information about VFM Darlian, to no avail so far. Instead, she'd been forced to make up stories on the fly to amuse the girl. It felt like trying to get a child to sleep.  
  
She scratched her head irritably. Her wig itched with sweat in the bright, hot sun. Her normal brown hair was hiding under a styled wig so dark it was almost black. She had an artificial tan, pretending to be Hispanic. The only thing she liked about her disguise was her name: Maria Renada. The last name was a throwback to Kushrenada, a private joke devised by Treize and herself.  
  
She whiled away the time until 3:00 by giving half of her attention to talking to Relena and the other half to watching the protestors on the other side of the fountain, then excused herself to go to the press conference. Relena said that she was going to that, too, to meet her dad when it was over.  
  
"Oh," Une said. "Will you be sitting by the stage?"  
  
"I think he said there's a seat saved for me off to one side of the podium, by the wall," Relena answered.  
  
Une kept her smile from looking scary. "I'll watch for you," she said, before walking away.  
  
She walked into the building, displaying her expertly-forged press pass and making her way to the hall where the conference was about to start. She slipped in near the back, watched the proceedings for five minutes with a tape recorder held out in front of her, and then excused herself past several people to go to the washroom. She'd seen both the VFM and his daughter sitting at the front of the room, well within forty feet of the podium.  
  
She went into the ladies' room, used the toilet, touched up her makeup, checked every stall to ensure that it was empty, and went to work. The sinks were on the wall she wanted, so she'd just leave her purse on the counter. She checked a slim, gold watch on her wrist: it was 3:09. She would set the timer, leave the purse, and have enough time to get away from the building before it went off. First, she removed her cell phone and false ID from the small pocket: the phone to call Treize in case things went wrong, and the ID in case it didn't incinerate.  
  
She pressed two buttons on the timer and heard it beep softly, illuminating the numbers '5:00', then zipped the bag shut and abandoned it on the far end of the counter, directly behind the podium. She dropped the phone and ID into her jacket pocket and smiled devilishly as she opened the bathroom door, stepping out into the hallway and walking briskly towards the front door, going for 'a little fresh air'.  
  
***  
  
Relena snuck out of the press conference after ten minutes, bored to death and needing to use the bathroom. She saw Maria walking down the hallway as she pushed open the bathroom door, and wondered why she wasn't in the conference. Shouldn't a good reporter be there the whole time, ready to catch every word said?  
  
She was alone in the bathroom, and as clapping echoed faintly through the wall by the sinks, she noticed a handbag sitting on the counter. She picked it up to look through it for ID, but remembered as she touched it that she'd seen it already that afternoon--it was Maria's. //She must've forgotten it!// she thought, and ran out the door of the bathroom with it, hoping to catch Maria before she went back to the conference. Surprisingly, Maria was just pushing open the front door of the building, alone in the hallway while the guards took a quick coffee break in a room down the hall.  
  
"Maria! *Maria!*" Relena called urgently, trying to get her attention. Maria stopped, and Relena skidded to a stop in front of her, panting a little as she held out the bag. "Your purse...you forgot it in the bathroom..."  
  
Relena expected thanks, possibly a smile, but she was bewildered to see Maria's expression change like lightning from confusion to horror to abject, hysterical anger. She glanced at her watch quickly and her eyes went very wide. "*You stupid little bitch!*" she yelled, yanking the purse from Relena's grip. She stared at it for a second like it might explode or something, and then ran six steps in her black high heels and threw it as far as she could. It sailed through the air and skidded onto the floor, sliding for a few feet before coming to a stop just short of the bathroom door. With that, she pushed out the glass front door of the building and nearly tripped over her heels as she flew down the stairs, shoving past people. Relena trailed behind her, wondering what the hell was going on.  
  
Maria was on the sidewalk at the bottom of the stairs, dragging herself a little more slowly through the crowd, and Relena was standing on the bottom step, staring after her in bewilderment, when a strange, prickling sensation suddenly tickled at her back. Before she knew what was happening, she was shoved through the air and landed flat on the pavement, groaning and with the wind knocked out of her. Her arm was underneath her face, flung out to protect it, and her sleeve felt wet. She lifted her head a little and saw that it was stained bright red. Her nose was bleeding. Her back felt hot, like she'd been standing in front of a fire. //So dizzy...think I'm gonna hurl...// The world went black.  
  
***  
  
Une stopped as a unit with the crowds in the plaza, gasping at the sudden fireball with everyone else around her, for the benefit of nearby people. As soon as she could, she started moving through the crowd, weaving her way towards the street as she pressed a button on her cell phone, alerting Treize that there were problems. Someone would pick her up soon.  
  
She thought she heard someone yelling for a doctor as she reached the sidewalk, ripping off her press pass and stuffing it in her pocket. She never looked back once, moving with purpose. She didn't notice eyes in a hedge, watching her walk by.  
  
***  
  
Wufei watched Une flying down the stairs to the plaza and knew immediately that something very bad was about to happen. Nevertheless, he gasped and flinched with everyone else when the explosion ripped apart the front of the conference building. The shockwave pushed him back a little, and he nearly fell over from the sudden force.  
  
He saw Une storming through the crowd and immediately jumped over one of the manicured hedges to watch her as she passed. There was a phone in her hand, and she yanked a plastic pass off over her head as she passed him. He followed at a short distance, hoping that she was meeting Treize, or at least that she was talking to herself, so that he could confirm what he thought: that VFM Darlian had just been assassinated.  
  
***  
  
Relena recovered after being unconscious for a few minutes, and realized that she wasn't sprawled on the pavement anymore. She was lying on her side on the manicured grass of the park, with jackets covering her and under her head. Her bloodstained arm was stretched out in front of her, and there were other minor scratches on her arms and legs. Several other people around her were lying in the same position, and some were unconscious.  
  
Paramedics had arrived at the building, and one was patrolling around the people on the grass, checking on them every few minutes. One who examined her told her that a bomb had gone off and the roof of the building had collapsed, right over the conference hall.  
  
She tried to sit upright at this news, but was held in place by the paramedic's hands. "Is-is my father all right?" she gasped.  
  
"They're pulling as many people out of the rubble as they can," the man said soothingly. "There was a doctor in the crowd, and she's helping us out, having a look at people as they come out." He walked away, and Relena lay there until he came back ten minutes later, asked her some questions, felt her neck, and said she could get up. "You're not too bad. Go and find your dad. You'd better see a doctor as soon as you can, though," he cautioned.  
  
She sat up quickly, threw the jackets off, and ran towards the building. The whole front was collapsed, and cordoned off with police tape. Paramedics and firefighters picked through the rubble, removing people and bearing them to the plaza on stretchers. She was stopped at the barrier by a police officer and watched anxiously as they pulled people out, trying to see the victims' faces, looking for her father. Suddenly, she saw him being carried out of the rubble on a stretcher and started yelling and pointing. "That's him! Let me through! That's my dad!" She ducked under the tape and escaped past the police officer, making a beeline for Edward Darlian's motionless form. A paramedic stopped her near a truck.  
  
"I'm sorry, miss," the woman said. "I can't let you any closer to him right now."  
  
"But that's my dad!" Relena gazed sadly at him. He looked very pale, and his chest looked a little flatter than it should have been.  
  
"Why don't you just come over here with me," the woman said, leading her by the arm to the edge of the fountain. "Sit down for a few minutes and rest while we look at your dad."  
  
The paramedics put him in a row of other people, checked his whole body, and felt for a pulse and breathing. They conversed with the firefighter who'd dug him out of the ruins, and then shook their heads. Relena heard the words 'crushed' and 'beam', and started to cry. One of the paramedics called to a woman who was bent over another body, and she came over to examine the VFM. After doing many of the same things the paramedics had, and listening to the firefighter's story again, tugging nervously at a twist of blonde hair that hung down her front, she shook her head and rechecked all of his vital signs. After a minute, she got up and spoke softly to the paramedic, who produced a tag and a pen from his pocket for her. He signalled to someone in a truck nearby and they hauled out a large, black bag.  
  
Relena couldn't look anymore. She buried her face in her hands and bawled her eyes out. Her body shook with wracking sobs and she cried after the tears dried up, hiccuping and gasping. The police officer she'd slipped past earlier came over to sit beside her, saying nothing for a few minutes. After she'd calmed down and was taking shaky, gasping breaths, still occasionally choking on sobs, he spoke.  
  
"I'm very sorry for your loss. Dr. Po asked me to come over and tell you that she's sorry, too. She'd do it herself, but there are still lives that can be saved," he said softly.  
  
"Th-th-thank you," she gulped. "But that won't b-bring my f-father back, will it?"  
  
"No, it won't," he said. A pause was filled with the sounds of her sniffling and others crying and yelling. "Ms. Darlian, I need to know your personal information so that we can get you out of here. This is a difficult question, but do you know who your father's next-of-kin is?"  
  
Relena sniffed. "My mom, I guess. Her name's Allison." She gave their address and phone number, which the police officer wrote down on a notepad.  
  
"Thank you," he said. "We'll get you back home as soon as we can." He walked away, and Relena leaned back on her seat to stare at the sky. There was still some smoke trailing away from the ruins of the building, marring the deep blue. She sniffled again and squeezed her eyes tightly shut, burying her face in her hands once more.  
  
  
  
A/N: I...almost feel sorry for Relena. I don't like her much myself, but she makes a good plot sometimes. And Sally...she's a doctor, yes. You'll find out some more about her later on. Why was she with the protesting patients? She just seems like the type who's not in it for the money, and hates being forced to charge people expensive rates to help them. If someone wants to draw her protest group, that would be uber-swank. Why don't you review and tell me what you think of this delicious chapter? 


	22. Rendezvous

A/N: Yay, here we go again. Note to JuliTina: my goal in life is to make you lose sleep, honey. (^.~) Of course the torture is on purpose. I'll tell ya something else: I know exactly who ends up with who at the end of the story, and you won't know for sure until you read the ending. Ooh, isn't it fun? Okay, I'm done being horrible now. I should mention that Fanfiction Sanctuary (fiction.seiryuuheaven.net) is now archiving DB. They're a fairly new site, same style as FF.N, except that their claim to fame is acceptance of all fics regardless of rating, and a promise of quality work. The jury's still out on that last bit, but go check them out.  
  
Disclaimer: Gundams are big, the moon is too, I don't own the series, and neither do you. :P  
  
Deadly Beautiful - Chapter 22  
  
By danse  
  
~*~  
  
When Duo checked his computer on the morning of May 2nd, there was an urgent message from G. It said: 'Reaper: Mission aborted. Target's father killed. No point in remaining. Pickup arranged on reply. Grandpa.'  
  
Duo's eyes went very wide. Leave? Already? But he was enjoying high school. It was a great experience so far. Besides, wasn't it a little soon to be leaving all of a sudden? He'd only been here for a week. He looked up quickly and checked the room. He could hear that Hikaru was still in the shower. Frantically, he started typing. 'Grandpa: Think it's too soon. At least another week necessary to make it look less weird that I'm leaving. Departure must not coincide with target incident. Request permission to remain another week. Reaper.' He encrypted his message and sent it, then ran his deleting program to remove all traces of the messages from his laptop. With that finished, he threw on his red jacket and left the room for breakfast.  
  
***  
  
Catherine pedalled as hard as she could, panting as she pushed the bike up the last steep hill. She stopped at the top, leaned against the thick trunk of an ancient tree, and gasped as quietly as she could for air as the bike leaned against her leg. She couldn't go any farther on it without being easily detected, so she concealed it in some bushes nearby. She would have to go the rest of the way on foot. She checked her watch. Two hours remained to her before she had to be at her meeting with Trowa. It was time to get going.  
  
She hiked, fast and silently, for a kilometre and a half through thin woods, and then spotted a fence, three hundred metres away. It was ten feet high and made of chain link, with barbed wire coils crowning it. Guards strolled by every hour or so. She had no idea when the last one had come. //Makes things more interesting,// she thought gamely as she removed a pair of wire cutters from a pouch on her belt. The sun was barely setting, but she was dressed all in black, expecting to have a much worse time getting out than in, in full darkness. She put on a black ski mask that exposed only her eyes and mouth, feeling like she was about to rob a bank. If there were cameras around, she didn't want them to see who she was.  
  
Looking around carefully, she went up to the fence and started looking through her pouch again. She removed something pink wrapped in plastic wrap and pinched it lightly in the wire cutters, holding it up against the metal fence. The raw hamburger didn't do anything when it was mooched against the wire; hopefully that meant that the fence wasn't electrified. She threw it on the ground and took the next step without hesitation, grabbing the fence and hoisting herself up. She didn't get electrocuted or shot, so she took that as a go-ahead and scrambled to the top with the wire cutters clenched in one hand. Reaching up to arm's-length to stay as far away as possible, she snipped the barbed wire coil and watched it spring away with a clatter. Quickly, she leaned over and snipped it again over to her left, cringing out of the way as the piece fell to the ground. Now the top was clear. She practically vaulted herself over the fence and rolled on the ground to absorb the thudding sound she made when she hit it.  
  
Catherine slipped as quietly as she could through the trees, the easiest part of her mission complete.  
  
***  
  
Jeremiah leaned casually against the wall of the building with his AK-47 slung over one shoulder, trying not to fall asleep. Guard duty was pretty boring, especially at the unused side entrances like this one. Suddenly, he heard a branch snap from somewhere to the left. He whirled around and levelled his gun, ready to pump the intruder full of lead. He didn't expect the intruder to have quite so much cleavage, though.  
  
"Hey, Jerry," Catherine crooned. "How you been?"  
  
"Katie!" he breathed, lowering his gun as he spoke his best Italian. "You look good, baby."  
  
"Thanks," Catherine replied. She had rolled up her black shorts to a level that would have made her mother blush, and her black button-down shirt had about two of the buttons done up, in strategic places. Her hair was artfully messed up, partly from the ski mask she'd abandoned before stomping on a branch. She hated being called Katie. //Sacrifices must be made sometimes,// she thought as she presented her vamped-up self to the guard, staying just in the shadows. There was a camera with a microphone on the right side of the door, right over the floodlight. "I haven't seen you for a while, Jerry," she whispered.  
  
"I know," he said, shifting anxiously. "Where've you been lately?"  
  
"That doesn't matter," she whispered, pushing desperately. She had fifteen minutes. "I'm here now." She beckoned with one finger as she stepped backwards, teasing him with a smile. Just as she'd hoped, he followed quickly, hormones raging out of control. It was easy to disappear in the darkening trees as he approached, and hit him with the wire cutters in the back of the head as soon as he was close. He dropped immediately, and she had to catch him and lower him to the ground. She bound his slack hands and feet with plastic ties and put duct tape over his mouth.  
  
With a little more than five minutes left, Catherine fixed her clothes, stuffed the mask back on, and slid quickly along the wall to the door. She squished herself in the recess of the door as she put cotton balls on a piece of duct tape and leaned over and up a little to cover the microphone on the camera with it, silencing the sound. She couldn't cover the camera, because that would alert the security department. She slipped quickly back into the shadows, hearing Trowa's approach through the door.  
  
***  
  
Trowa walked down the empty hallway of the base, doing his best to look nonchalant and slightly bored as he wove his way steadily along a roundabout route to the East Entrance. He glanced at his watch. '21:50' glowed up at him in green digital numbers.  
  
He got to the entrance in question at 21:58 and looked around. Where the hell was the guard? There was usually one posted at every entrance, at all times. He raised an eyebrow, shrugged, and softly opened the door. It swung open to reveal a dirt path fading into trees, illuminated in the darkness by a halogen floodlight over his head. He stood on the threshold for a moment and peered around him, seeing no one.  
  
Suddenly, he was hit in the arm. He jumped and whipped his head around to see Catherine several feet away, standing in the shadows as close to the wall of the building as she could. She dropped the stone in her hand into a bush, since she didn't need to throw another one, and beckoned to him to follow her. "Stay close to the wall," she whispered. Her voice was so quiet that he barely heard it. He followed.  
  
When they were both concealed in the trees, Trowa's eyes adjusted to the darkness and he noticed a body for the first time. "What the--!" he yelped. Catherine clapped a hand over his mouth.  
  
"Shut up!" she hissed. "Do you want to give us away? He's just unconscious. I don't have very long." When Trowa calmed down and just stared at her expectantly, she removed her hand from his mouth and took a deep breath. "You've got questions, I'm sure," she whispered.  
  
He sure as hell *did* have questions. Where to start? "Where did you go to?" he whispered. "Why all this trouble to talk to me? I hardly know who you are!"  
  
She sat down on a fallen log, and Trowa planted himself next to her to hear her story, urgently whispered and unbelievable.  
  
"They let me go two days after you left," she said. "It started two weeks before that, though, when I was putting away some files for S. They were personal history files, marked as confidential, with pictures and names. I actually dropped a stack while I was trying to open a door, and they spilled on the floor. Your picture fell out of yours, and when I opened your file to put it back, I accidentally noticed more photos on the first page.  
  
"It was your medical history, and the photos were of your back." Trowa squirmed a little in his green T-shirt as he realized what she was referring to. She didn't seem to notice, and continued. "It's covered in scars, isn't that right? A bunch of long, thin diagonals, little puffy lines that have been there for years. I'll tell you in a minute why that caught my eye." She stared at her hand, fingers spread, as she talked. "I put the files away, but first I sneaked into an empty office and photocopied the contents of yours. I kept them hidden in my quarters, under the carpet in a place where it had lifted. I went through the papers the first chance I got, and found some other things."  
  
"Like what?" Trowa asked. He was surprised that the immense nervousness he felt didn't show in his voice.  
  
She looked up at him, her eyes shining in the starlight. "You were brought here at the age of four to begin your training, yes?"  
  
He blinked. "I guess so. I never really thought about it before. I don't have a lot of memories before being here."  
  
"They have programs that would generate that kind of response after a while," she answered. "Before they discovered what I was doing and forced me into hiding, I did some more research about how you got here and found that two other children, a girl and a boy, were also brought, same time, same age. Only you were successful at the training, though."  
  
Vaguely, Trowa wondered what had happened to the other two, but her story was beginning to draw him in.  
  
"Did you ever stop and wonder how you got here, Trowa? How could a four- year-old child possibly find himself here?"  
  
Trowa shook his head. He'd honestly never thought about that with more than passing curiosity. Now, he wondered if that was a natural reaction, or something programmed into him.  
  
"It says in your file that you were 'found' on the street in Pordenone, Italy, and brought here in July of that year. Nothing else. You could have been homeless, lost, stolen, or anything. And now I have a story to tell you, about me and something that happened when I was young, but that I remember quite clearly." She took a deep, wavering breath. Trowa was transfixed.  
  
"I grew up in northern Italy. When I was young, I had a mother, a father, and a brother. My brother's name was Triton. When he was two and I was eight, our parents were driving us somewhere and we got in a terrible car accident. I remember that I broke my arm and my collarbone, and that both of my parents died. A piece of metal scraped along Triton's back and cut him very deeply in a few places. They had to give him stitches, but there were scars that they said would never go away.  
  
"Since we had no parents left, the two of us became foster children. We were kept together, but bumped around a lot. Two years after the accident, when he was four and I was ten, we were living in Pordenone with a nice lady who had two cats. One day, she took us shopping with her. She went into a store and left me to watch him outside. Triton was sitting on the sidewalk in front of the shop window, talking to the ants, and I was leaning on the glass wishing I could have some gelato. A dog barked loudly from my other side, and I turned to look. When I looked back, my brother was gone." She blinked and looked up at Trowa, searching his eyes. Trowa didn't know what to say. His mind was reeling with possibilities.  
  
She gathered her courage and dropped the bomb. "Trowa, I think your name isn't really Trowa Barton. I think your name is Triton Bloom. In fact, I'm sure of it. You're my brother."  
  
The words echoed through his brain, bouncing off of thoughts and emotions and redoubling in volume as they careened around. //Brother...this girl is my sister...my family...// Not that long ago, he'd been having thoughts about her that now disgusted him to realize. //She has no proof, though...just her memory...it could be a coincidence.// But the more he tried to convince himself that she was wrong, the more he knew that she wasn't--that she couldn't be. It was too much to be a coincidence. //She could be lying,// his brain whispered. He met her eyes. She looked like she was about to cry. Trowa had met many deceivers in his line of work, and had deceived too many people himself. Catherine was still an unknown quantity (every time he saw her, she threw him another curveball), but he didn't think she was lying.  
  
"So..." he squeaked, and cleared his throat before trying again. "So what do you think we should do?"  
  
She grasped his hand urgently, nervous excitement washing over her. "I've gotten an apartment in Verona, under a false name. There's room for you. We can...start over. Make up for the last twelve years."  
  
It was a very appealing idea. "Hasn't S got a line out on you, if you know things you shouldn't?"  
  
"I have an inside source who keeps me up-to-date," she answered. "The man who gave you my message. He's trustworthy, if anyone is."  
  
"How do you know *I* won't turn you in?" he asked bluntly.  
  
She raised her head high. "I ran away from foster care when I was sixteen, and I've spent every year since then looking for you, hoping you were alive. It was my fault that you disappeared when I should have been watching you. If I can't get you to safety now that I've found you, they can do what they want to me." The gravity of her words shook him.  
  
"So you think I'm in danger here? I'm the best agent he has."  
  
"Trowa--Triton--I don't think you have an accurate idea of what you're caught in. I handled S' private papers for a year and a half, and I've dug around quite a bit. I *still* don't know for sure how much neither of us know, but the tip of the iceberg that I've found wasn't pleasant. It's a fickle profession, and the sooner you're far away from it, the better." She lay a hand on his arm and started whispering very fast, realizing that their time was nearly up. The guard could wake up any minute. "Look, if you can get out without getting killed, I know some people who can take you into hiding. We'll get some false papers drawn up, we'll wait for things to blow over, and then what's left of the Bloom family can be together again. Happily ever after."  
  
"...I'd like that," Trowa murmured.  
  
She smiled. "I have to go. If they find me, they'll kill me." She picked up a ski mask off of the ground and put it on. "We can keep in contact through my friend inside," she said.  
  
"Will we meet like this again?"  
  
"I don't know." She stepped close and hugged him fiercely, just as Jeremiah groaned. "When you go back inside, pull the tape off of the microphone on the camera," she whispered. "Now *go!*"  
  
Trowa saw her snip the plastic restraints on the guard's ankles and wrists before she melted into the dark woods, black into shadows. //She's nuts,// he thought. //I'm glad she's my sister.// He slid along the wall to go back inside, stopping to pull the tape from the camera mike as he opened the door. He walked down the perpetually lit hallway towards the Playroom, ready to burn some nervous energy, whistling a tune as he went.  
  
  
  
A/N: Bwahaha, plot advancement. Hey, guess what? One of the G-boys is going to die, really, truly, and forever, sometime during the course of the story, leaving another particular G-boy in a lot of emotional pain. When and who? That's for you to find out! See you in two weeks... 


	23. Revelations

A/N: Hello, boys and girls. You get hit in the face with plot advancement galore this chapter; enjoy. Also, I apologize to all who are offended by my shameless altering of both the GW history and the history of the country of Liechtenstein.  
  
Disclaimer: (sings) I'm hooked on a feeling; I'm high on believing that I own Gundam Wing.... but I don't.  
  
Deadly Beautiful - Chapter 23  
  
By danse ~*~  
  
Quatre smothered a yawn with his hand as he perched on the edge of a desk in the strategy den the Maganacs liked to call the War Room. He'd been up for twenty hours straight, running on Turkish coffee and sesame crackers with Rashid, Abdul, and Iria as they waited for one of their number to come home from a mission.  
  
Finally, the man they'd sent, Mohammed bin Abdullah, pushed aside the red curtain in the doorway and collapsed in the chair that was waiting for him. His left arm was bandaged and his right hand clutched a stack of papers and a computer disk.  
  
Quatre leapt off of the desk and practically jumped on the man, crouching in front of him urgently as he greeted him. "You were compromised?" he asked in Arabic, gesturing at the bandage. The man had been working undercover in France to get intelligence on this OZ organization that Quatre had heard of from Trowa.  
  
Mohammed gave a soft grunt of assent, and his eyes squinted with pain. "I was three scant hours from escape, and someone confronted me. He was a guard, and he said that he knew I wasn't who I said I was, that I was a spy. Three men jumped me and dragged me into a little interrogation room, practically a closet with a table. They tried to get me to confess, and cut my arm a few times. By Allah, it hurt. I was bleeding everywhere; I think they nicked a vein. I thought I was going to either pass out or confess when one of their radios went off, saying that there was a security breach in another area of the building.  
  
"They cursed at me and called me many evil things that don't bear repeating, and then locked me in the closet and ran down the hall. I tore cloth from my shirt and used it to bandage my arm, and then I stood on the table and climbed into an air duct in the ceiling. I got back to an empty hallway, found my stash of papers, and got out as fast as I could. I was delayed nearly fifteen hours in my return by getting my arm fixed up properly at a hospital, and then finding transportation out of the country. The OZ officers were looking through the airports for me, so I stowed away on a ship across the sea." Mohammed handed Quatre the papers and disk. "I hope these are sufficient, Master Quatre," he said.  
  
Quatre was more worried about the man than the information at this point. "I'm sure it's excellent intelligence, Mohammed. Go get some food and rest. You must be exhausted."  
  
"Thank you, sir." The spy left the room, the curtain rustling softly behind him.  
  
Quatre flipped through the stack of papers, passing reports around the table for perusal as Rashid opened their laptop to run the disk. As each of the strategists read their respective papers, they stopped to read parts of interest to the group. Mohammed's work was sufficient, indeed. Quatre's mind reeled.  
  
The OZ organization had apparently materialized out of nowhere three years ago, led by Antonio Catalonia, a former general of the Italian military. With the help of some high-placed friends in foreign politics and multinational corporations, he'd built up a small circle of powerful military figures and businessmen with an unknown agenda, all hidden from the world news.  
  
Within the last year, the mysterious OZ had begun talks with the Romefeller Corporation, a company dealing in oil and gas reserves as well as several other natural resources. They'd previously worked with three different independent space programs and an airline manufacturer, building tanks, armoured trucks, and other tools of war in the slow seasons.  
  
"What is this OZ group planning, that they would be negotiating with people who build large machinery?" Iria asked, flipping through the hieroglyphic fiscal report she was holding.  
  
Rashid's voice was grim. "This," he answered, turning the laptop around for the others to see the screen.  
  
The disk was copied from confidential files, a feat to reward Mohammed for. As Rashid scrolled down the screen, they saw photos, blueprints, and classified reports all headed with the same title: Operation Zodiac.  
  
"What is this?" Quatre murmured, pulling the computer closer in a daze. He read bits of the reports, looked at the pictures. They all looked like they were related to military operations. Near the bottom of the file, he saw a table containing a long list of strange codenames, obscure worldwide locations, and lists of people of military rank. "Leo Ground Unit, Aries, Taurus Special Task Force...what does it mean?" He scanned the long chart and found one line that differed greatly from the rest: 'Taurus Special Task Force; Lt.-Com. Harrison, Lt. Karenov, Lt. Noin; 19.7 E 29.3 S; DESTROYED. DISCIPLINARY ACTION UNADVISED.' "Look," he said, pointing at the entry. "One of them's been destroyed. Whatever they are."  
  
Rashid squinted at the monitor. "These have to be the co-ordinates of their locations. They're probably bases--military compounds, from the look of it."  
  
"But what do they want to do?" Abdul countered. "This isn't UN activity, and it's not an individual country, either. Is there going to be some kind of global revolution?"  
  
Quatre leaned back in his chair. "They're being quiet enough about it. I think we might have been lucky to stumble upon this. I'll have to ask Mohammed how he did it. This is amazing."  
  
"So you agree with Abdul?" Iria asked him. "There's going to be a global revolution? I can't imagine it."  
  
"There's going to be something, that's certain. They can't be just practicing their organizational skills and teamwork." Quatre answered. "I think we should find out exactly what it is as soon as possible. I'm going to talk to H about it, and we can do some follow-up." He got up from his seat, closing the laptop. His companions followed suit, looking grave in the face of the unknown situation.  
  
Rashid pulled him aside as they filed out of the room, whispering. "Are you sure that we should pursue this, Quatre? This might be too big for us to handle. We're not a large enough group to fight on a global scale."  
  
Quatre regarded his friend calmly. "If this really is something big and bad, and I think we both have the same feeling that it is, how would you live with yourself if you let it happen, knowing that you might have done something to stop it? Win or lose, we have to try. This chance has fallen into our laps; I'm not going to pass it up."  
  
Rashid stared at Quatre for a second, looking agitated. Finally, he nodded acquiescence. "You're right. Our goal as Maganacs is to make the world a better place, for *all* to live in. We should do what we can. You find out more about this, and I will guarantee that I'll do everything in my power to have the force of the Maganacs behind your actions. This is an act of providence from Allah himself; I'll do my part."  
  
Quatre clapped his burly friend's shoulder. "I'm glad." With that, Rashid left the room ahead of him.  
  
Quatre lingered in the doorway a minute with his hand on the curtain. //What luck we have,// he thought. //We might be the only chance at the downfall of a violent world take-over. I have Trowa to thank. If I hadn't run into him, I wouldn't know about any of this.// He moved to leave but paused again, struck still by another sudden thought. //I wonder if Trowa knows about this. Should I tell him? We seem to be on the same side... But how would I contact him? Trowa...//  
  
The curtain swayed for a moment after it fell back in the doorway, betraying his exit.  
  
***  
  
Relena stared out through her bedroom window, eyeing the cheerfully sunlit sky with distaste. It was as if nature was mocking her heart, by showing sun when she felt like a rainstorm. She heard her mother's voice behind her and sighed. They'd just come home from the funeral a few minutes ago. She crossed the room to her dresser and looked at her image in the mirror, morbidly noting how good they looked with her long, black dress. Her skin had a somewhat ghostly pallor, the same she'd had for days. Her mascara was streaked with tears.  
  
"Relena," her mother said, appearing in her doorway, black dress discarded in favour of jeans and a fuzzy sweater. She hated funerals.  
  
"You've changed already?" Relena asked, a little amazed. "That was fast."  
  
The newly widowed Mrs. Darlian walked into the room, her bearing regal and her head held high as she made her way to the bed and sat down on it. Relena noticed that her eyes were red-rimmed, both from lack of sleep and excess tears. "Come sit down, honey. There's something I need to talk to you about."  
  
Relena sat on the bed next to her mother, wondering what was going on. She seemed extremely distraught, and kept fidgeting with her hands in her lap. "What's the matter?"  
  
Mrs. Darlian took a deep breath. "I know you've had a rough few days, and so have I. Edward's barely in the ground. There's something that I urgently need to talk to you about, though.  
  
"He and I made each other, and one other person, a promise years ago, that if anything ever happened to either of us--something like this--the other would tell you a story, one about you."  
  
"What are you talking about?" Relena demanded, feeling nervous. "A story about me? What do you mean, if something 'like this' happened?!"  
  
"Calm down, sweetheart," her mother whispered, taking her hands. "I'm going to tell you this, but you must not spread it around. I thought you might realize it; Edward was assassinated."  
  
"What? How do you know?"  
  
"Perhaps you're a little young to understand. In a few minutes, it might make more sense. Now, I'm going to tell you the story, and I want you to listen without comment until I'm finished. Who knows if you'll ever hear it again, and I need to know that you've heard and understood it all."  
  
Seeing that she had her daughter's full and silent attention, she began. "Fourteen years ago, there was a king. He ruled a small country with his wife by his side. They had two children. The people seemed to be happy. However, there was a small group of people who weren't. The king was a peace-loving man, and even though he possibly could have fought wars with other nations, and maybe won a little more land and honour for his people, he was content to simply govern and let the wars go on around them. The small group of unhappy people didn't agree with this, and eventually they took action.  
  
"Thirteen years ago, the king found out about some revolutionary plots against him, and was advised to squash the threats before they killed him, but since he loved peace so much, he couldn't do that. Instead, he and his wife sent their two children into hiding, in different countries under assumed names. They were to lay low with their new families until things calmed down and they could come back.  
  
"Six months after getting the children out, the king and queen were assassinated, and the country underwent a revolution. That lasted seven years, until a democratic government was set up. Unfortunately, because of the small size of the nation and the peoples' experience of being governed by one royal family for generations, that dissolved. Now one person rules in proxy until the royal family re-emerges, or someone else takes over." Mrs. Darlian studied Relena's face. The girl was mesmerized by the tale, but didn't look uncomfortable yet, so she decided to tell the rest.  
  
"Relena, you are one of the children of the late king of Liechtenstein. You are a member of the royal house of Friedenskraft, known to most English people as Peacecraft. Edward and I are not your real parents. We are loyal servants of your family, and we took you into hiding here in the United States thirteen years ago. It's a closely guarded secret."  
  
Relena stared. Her brain felt numb, as if she was going into shock. "I...what?"  
  
"I knew this would be too much for you all at once," Mrs. Darlian fretted.  
  
"Hold on...you're not my mother. Dad wasn't really my dad. I'm...a princess?" This was not real. It couldn't be.  
  
"Yes," Mrs. Darlian said. "You're the crown princess of Liechtenstein."  
  
"But...don't they speak German there? I don't speak German. I'd know if I did, wouldn't I?"  
  
Mrs. Darlian smiled. "You didn't speak a word of English when we brought you over. You had to learn it all. We thought about keeping you speaking German, too, but we thought it might look too suspicious."  
  
Relena nodded slowly. "I see." Then something dawned on her. "There were two children, you said."  
  
Mrs. Darlian bit her lip. "We haven't heard about the other child for years. As far as anyone knows, he's dead. He was your older brother, first in line for the throne."  
  
"If he was first in line, and he's dead...I'm the heir to the throne." Relena said the last part very slowly, tasting the words as they passed over her tongue for the first time. They felt strange and foreign, belonging to a far-off land with a forgotten language. "Shouldn't-- shouldn't I go back?" she asked.  
  
"Well, I thought perhaps you'd finish your schooling first," Mrs. Darlian said. "There's no real hurry, you can't rule officially until you're eighteen anyways."  
  
"They have school in Liechtenstein," Relena protested. "I should go back to my home country, learn my native language again...I have a family name to uphold." Her mind was racing, latching onto something besides the grief and clinging for dear life.  
  
"Relena! Calm down. You've nothing to uphold yet. They've waited this long, they can wait a few more years until you're ready physically and emotionally to lead." //This was a bad idea,// Mrs. Darlian thought.  
  
"...You're right," Relena said, slumping a little as she deflated. "But, can't I go back? Just to visit? I want to see where I was born! I want something real to remember until I go back for good, not just pictures and imagination."  
  
"All right, there's nothing wrong with that," Mrs. Darlian conceded. "This summer, we'll go--"  
  
Relena shook her head. "Sooner."  
  
"I--" Mrs. Darlian's protests died as half-formed breaths under the look in her adopted daughter's eyes. The fierce determination there wilted her weaker resolve. //She's been through a lot, she deserves a high point,// she thought with defeat. "Sooner," she complied. "I'll book flights. Going back home might make me feel better, too." She got up and left the room, ready to phone a travel agent.  
  
Relena watched as her mother--//No, not my mother,// she thought--walked out the door, and realized that even though she wasn't actually a parent, she'd been married to Mr. Darlian before this grand adventure. She'd loved him as much as any wife loved her husband. //I've been pushing her while she's grieving,// Relena thought with remorse. //But I have another home! And I'm going there!// Her excitement and nervousness quelled her guilt and grief. Suddenly the sunshine didn't look quite so mocking.  
  
  
  
A/N: Behold! Watch as Relena transforms to Princess!Relena, asserting her unconscious control over everyone she encounters, starting with her dear not-mum. 


	24. Heero Meets the Reaper

A/N: Happy 24. I've discovered a new-found addiction to trance and techno. Leave a review.  
  
Deadly Beautiful - Chapter 24  
  
By danse  
  
~*~  
  
Quatre knocked on the sand-coloured wall outside the doorway, as was the custom in the Maganac base when you wanted to announce your presence in a room. The man at the table inside turned around at the sound, twisting his wheelchair to face the door as Quatre brushed past the curtain.  
  
"Good afternoon, Quatre. What would you like?" H asked genially.  
  
Quatre sat down in a chair across the table from his old mentor. "I have questions," he said.  
  
"Let's have it, then."  
  
Quatre explained about the information that had been retrieved about the secret society known as OZ, and the evidence of military operations that had been indicated. He showed the older man a printout of the chart that possibly depicted the existence of several military installments around the globe. H listened to all of it with interest, not speaking until Quatre had finished. When he had his chance, he said, "You wish to take action?"  
  
Quatre frowned. "That depends on what we have here. Is it what we think it is?"  
  
H leaned back in his wheelchair, tapping his fingers on the table. "I think yes," he answered.  
  
"Then what do you suggest we do?"  
  
"First of all, you need an army you can trust to follow you to doomsday-- the Maganacs are good fighters, but they have their own agenda. You need outsiders, and preferably a lot of them. Then you need to attack and destroy every one of these bases." H pointed to the entry that said, 'DESTROYED'. "Perhaps you should find whoever did this. They seem to know what they're doing."  
  
"Is that all you can tell me?" Quatre asked.  
  
"I'm afraid so. When you find out more, or when you are ready to act, I'll help as much as I can."  
  
Quatre stood up. "Thanks," he said. "I appreciate your opinion."  
  
H nodded genially as the boy left the room. When he was sure that he was alone again, he sagged in his seat with a deep sigh, staring at the table. "And thus, my part of the operation begins," he said softly. "That old bastard J will be riled when he finds out I've sent that boy on a hunt for the rest, but I still maintain that co-operation is the only way to succeed." With a heave, he turned himself around and wheeled out of the room, ready for a cup of strong coffee.  
  
***  
  
Zechs Merquise sipped his coffee as he flipped through the newspaper. It was ten o'clock on Saturday morning at the base in France, and he was indulging in his usual routine: a morning workout and training manoeuvres, followed by a healthy-sized breakfast and the newspaper. He found the world news section of the French paper he was reading, and scanned the articles.  
  
Halfway down the first page, a headline caught his eye that said, 'American Vice Foreign Minister Buried'. He scanned the article, which said that the American VFM, Edward Darlian, who had been killed in an explosion at a conference in Washington on Wednesday, had been buried yesterday in New York State. That meant very little to Zechs, but the photo that accompanied the article nearly made him spit out the last of his coffee.  
  
It was a family picture of the late VFM, his wife, and their daughter. Except that it wasn't their daughter; it couldn't have been. //She looks like...// The half-finished thought rattled around in Zechs' brain. He read the caption, which said that her name was Relena. //Relena...It must be...she looks just like Katrina...// He frowned thoughtfully. He hadn't heard anything about her existence for the past six years, at least, and he'd wondered if she was dead. //Perhaps, if Edward is dead, she'll go back. I must keep an eye on her.// Resolutely, he closed the paper and got up to rinse out his cup in the little kitchen sink.  
  
***  
  
Duo stretched lazily, relishing the hot water beating down onto his back before shutting off the shower. It was Saturday morning, and he'd jumped into the shower first thing, while Hikaru was still sleeping. His roommate talked as little as possible, which annoyed Duo to no end. Whenever they were in the same room together, he found himself talking more to make up for Hikaru's silences, and it bothered him that he couldn't seem to control that. //There's something with that kid,// he thought as he grabbed a towel from the rack.  
  
Just as he stepped out of the tub, he heard the slam of a small door closing. //His locker, he must be awake,// Duo thought, ready to dismiss it. Something gnawed at the back of his brain, though. Something wasn't quite like it should have been. //But what...?// he thought, absently rubbing at his hair with the towel as he thought. He replayed the noise in his mind a few times, knowing that that must have been it. //What's the big--// He stopped abruptly, ceasing the distracted rubbing of the towel at his head. His hair stood up in a wave from the non-attention, but he ignored it. //Two slams. I heard *two* slams. One right after the other. Almost at the same time, but not quite. Is there a locker *inside* his locker?// He swiftly turned his head to stare at the bathroom door, as if he had x-ray vision and could see through it. //...He's hiding something.//  
  
This would be interesting. Duo finished drying off in a hurry and threw his clothes on, wiping steam from the mirror so that he could see to comb out and neatly braid his hair. He was leaving this evening, and his 'parents' were going to pick him up out front at seven. It was about 10:00 AM now, which meant that he had nine hours to get into the locker and satisfy his curiosity before he left. He flung open the bathroom door and grinned at Hikaru, who completely ignored him as he got up from his bed and locked himself in the steam-filled bathroom to shower.  
  
Duo dug his laptop out of his schoolbag and sat on his own bed, listening to classic rock music as he stared at the little metal box across the room, wondering what could be in it that Hikaru would want to protect so badly. A computer? Duo had seen him use one occasionally. A gun? Not likely. He was a foreign ambassador's son, apparently. No use for weapons. Was it stacks of money or jewels? That would be good to find, Duo thought. He was going to need another transmission in the Mustang soon, and stock parts were expensive. Test answers? That would explain the disgustingly high marks the kid got without trying. Duo knew the material; he got average grades on purpose, to fit in better. //No one likes a geek.//  
  
The water stopped running, and shortly the bathroom door swung open to reveal a fully-dressed Japanese immigrant. Hikaru gave Duo a dirty look for being there, and collected his schoolbag with some textbooks. "Going to the library," he muttered, shutting the hallway door behind him without a further word.  
  
Duo left his music at volume, silently counting to fifty as he strained to hear the dying echo of footsteps outside. After a pause, he practically flew off of his bed and deposited himself on the floor in front of his roommate's locker. He took off his left shoe and carefully pried up the leather insole inside it, pulling up a flap he'd created to reveal a little set of basic lock picks. He carried them as often as he could, finding them useful in some situations. He'd been taught to pick locks at the age of seven, by a nice kid of twelve who he'd met on the streets, before entering G's service. With practice, he'd gotten very good at it, and kept up the skill over the years. As far as he knew, G had no idea that he could do it. Pulling them out and replacing his shoe, he set to work on the cheap school lock. It took only a few seconds to pop it open.  
  
He opened the door and wasn't surprised at all to see that he'd been right; there was a small safe inside the locker. He examined the lock on it, and found that it was one of the trickiest little bastards he'd ever encountered. //Well, I'll be damned,// he thought. //I bet you can't find *this* little puppy at the hardware store...// He set to it anyway, working with his tongue between his teeth and the overhead light switched on so that he could see it better. After close to five minutes of fiddling and twisting, and starting over twice, he heard a soft click, even under the bass of his music across the room, and the lock sprang open in his hand. He cackled. //I am the master...//  
  
Savouring the moment, he opened the safe door as if it was a treasure chest, and looked at the contents. There was a sleek, black laptop leaning on its side, taking up most of the space. He removed it and set it on the floor, in case he had time and wanted to look at it in a minute. There was also a stack of papers, which he ignored. What really caught his attention was the two full clips of handgun ammunition that sat neatly in one corner. //What the fuck does an exchange student need these for?// he thought, staring at them. //...And this,// he added, picking up a knife in a case. The blade inside was wickedly sharp. A small, black handheld device hid in a shadow. He removed it. //A...bug sniffer?// He peered at it. He'd used one of these himself, once, on another mission. //Who *is* this guy, really? He's not what he seems. He can't be.//  
  
The last object in the safe was a small, brown case shaped like a hexagon, with the hardness of a steel-toed boot. He shook it, and it rattled, so he opened the flap and carefully removed one of the five objects inside. //What the...oh my...fucking...holy...// A hundred different exclamations of shock swirled around his thoughts as he stared at the thing he held in his hand. His hand shook. //It...no. He...// He held a six-pointed, silver star. Each point was a razor blade. He'd seen it before. There was one stuck in a block of wood, on G's desk. / It's called a shuriken, or a throwing star, if you don't speak Japanese...There aren't many people who can use those effectively.../ He rubbed at the scar on his nose. It was the same guy. The same fucking guy.  
  
He was startled out of his reverie by a click from behind him. He turned his head slowly and found himself staring down the barrel of a gun with a silencer attached. Hikaru smirked at him.  
  
"I forgot something, and came back," Hikaru explained in his rusty, icy voice. That awful smirk wouldn't leave his face.  
  
Duo stared calmly at his enemy's face rather than the gun, feeling himself drifting away from his body like he had one day in Manhattan. He grew cold inside, and knew that he could handle this. He was the Reaper, after all. He returned Hikaru's stare just as icily, hiding the movement of his hand as it slipped the shuriken up the sleeve of his red jacket. "How's your leg?" he asked, thinking of the day Hikaru had limped from the gym after basketball. Because Duo had shot him.  
  
"It's fine," the other boy snarled, tightening his grip on the gun. "How's your nose?"  
  
"Not as hurt as my pride," Duo returned. He gauged the distance between them, shuffling back a little to the space between the beds. The gun stayed trained as steadily as if it was mounted on a tripod. There was about four feet between them when Duo moved back. Enough space to react.  
  
"Put your hands in the air," the gunman snapped. "No funny business."  
  
"Wouldn't dream of it." Duo complied, ignoring a scrape at his skin as the shuriken slid a little down his sleeve. "So," he said conversationally, "is Hikaru your real name?"  
  
"Is Scott yours?"  
  
"Touché. I was wondering, though, what *is* your name? Since you're going to kill me anyway. Dead men tell no tales, you know." Duo winked.  
  
Hikaru didn't answer.  
  
"No response, eh? There's only one reason for that." Duo smiled a lazy, dangerous smile, his hands dropping infinitesimally as he gave Hikaru the malevolent look of a resting snake. "You don't think I'm going to die right here, right now. And you know what? I'M NOT!" He yelled the last bit, dropping smoothly to the floor and sliding the weapon out of his sleeve as Hikaru startled and cocked the gun to fire. Saying a silent prayer, he flung the star from between finger and thumb at the gun, hoping to hit his enemy's hand. As it was, it missed the hand, but hit the gun with enough force and surprise to knock it from Hikaru's grip. Both weapons skittered away across the floor.  
  
Duo wasted no time in pouncing on Hikaru, the only thought in his mind being, //Hey, I like this song,// in the direction of the abandoned laptop as he tackled the other to the floor and started pummelling him mercilessly. The other boy was strong, and fended Duo off easily, pushing him off to hit the floor between the beds and leave him lying there, panting, while he heaved himself into a sitting position and wiped blood away from a split lip.  
  
Duo's mind was working furiously. His backpack was near his head. It contained, among other things, a glasses case that didn't really hold glasses. It held a syringe and a tiny bottle of the drug he was supposed to use on Relena. //How do I get it out and use it without being killed?// he thought. //Oh, hell, just wing it.// He rolled over, stumbled onto his hands and knees, and dragged himself to his backpack, fishing out the case and keeping it out of Hikaru's sight as he took out the syringe and drug. He heard shuffling behind him as his adversary dragged himself to his feet and went to pick up the gun, sounding disoriented. In a dull panic, Duo stabbed the needle into the bottle and pulled back the plunger as steadily as he could, filling it with blue liquid. He had to abandon the needle under a nightstand to face his opponent again, who was advancing on him with the gun. With a deep breath, Duo pushed himself across the hardwood floor with his hands, sliding on his back, and kicked Hikaru hard in the knee. The other teen stumbled, giving Duo a chance to get to his feet and seize the hand with the gun in it.  
  
The boys fought for control of that hand for a tense moment, grunting softly under the heavy guitar music filling the air, cursing at each other as they pushed and pulled. Duo ducked a kick to his head and used his low stance to shove Hikaru backwards, toppling him and making him let go of the gun. Duo leaned down with the gun trained on the other boy's head and slugged him hard in the face. Two shoe-clad feet suddenly hammered him in the chest, and he stumbled backwards, backing up against the empty bed as Hikaru sprang impossibly from his back to his feet and shoved him down, the gun falling to abandonment on the floor somewhere. They engaged in a brief tussle, Duo getting his face worked over by strong fists as he fended off blows with one hand, reaching down for the syringe with the other. He grabbed it, squeezed the plunger up to squirt out the air (he thought it had been knocked around enough to push the bubbles to the top already), and pushed Hikaru's face back with his free hand, exposing enough neck to stab the needle into. He emptied the entire thing into what he hoped was a vein and gave the other boy a punch in the face for good measure.  
  
Hikaru glared at him right before his entire body went slack on top of Duo's, pinning him down. Duo shoved him off and sprang to his feet, leaving the unconscious one sprawled on the bed. He ran into the bathroom and looked in the mirror. //My face is a mess,// he thought. His eye was already discolouring, and there was dried blood on his face from his nose and lip, which was also split. //Can't go out by the door...// He ran through the room, gathering his laptop, GPS, gun, syringe, and a change of casual clothes and stuffing them all in his backpack. He changed into his sneakers and opened the window, glancing outside. The drop wasn't far, and it ended in the bushes. He crashed among branches and ran for the gates of the school, panting. He would run along the road for the next three miles until he reached a gas station down the road, where he would call for a ride back to the city.  
  
//That's twice I've escaped death by the same person,// he thought. //I must be lucky...//  
  
  
  
A/N: Hark! Shinigami!Duo makes a second appearance. Tell me what you think of these intriguing plot turns. 


	25. Homecoming

A/N: My life has calmed down from a hectic state, and my beta reader is pretty much at exam week, so things might go a little more promptly than they tend to around here. I'm not making any promises, though. (^.~) I must get some more plot planned out; the story's beginning to catch up to me. And I'm just a lazy slacker about the website. Link Worshipper drew me some hot DB art, which I am glad for, and I shall archive it for all to enjoy as soon as I get off my ass. If nothing else, I should get the site done during Xmas break. A couple reviews I wanna address:  
  
Lily: No offense taken, darling. I just need to interject that I wrote the Pit first. :P lol, I sound so arrogant. I think it's cool that we have the same idea, and yet completely different ones, based on our respective settings. Did she get inspiration from me? That would be interesting. I don't know...  
  
Angel of the Fallen Stars: ::evil grin:: I'll never te-e-ell...  
  
Wing: I love the feedback I get from you. It helps me out sometimes. Duo's good at the dirty tricks: whatever keeps him alive. I'm sure we'd all do the same. Read on to see for yourself what happens next...  
  
Disclaimer: *expresses non-ownership of Gundam Wing and its characters, as well as lack of monetary income, through interpretative dance*  
  
Deadly Beautiful - Chapter 25  
  
By danse  
  
~*~  
  
Duo practically fell out of the taxi, flinging money at the driver before stumbling up the granite front steps of an office building in New York City. It was 7:00 AM on Sunday, May 14, and he hadn't slept at all the night before. Instead, he'd spent the night trying to get from Clearwater Academy to his current location, in front of G's office building. The three-mile run to the gas station had taken rather longer than he'd hoped, partly because he'd been far too tired from fighting to exert himself with running for three miles flat out. It had been a sort of jog, or fast walk, for half of the distance.  
  
Upon reaching the gas station in question, with the help of his handy GPS, he'd dug change out of his pocket and used the pay phone outside to call his contact number. He'd gotten no answer--the phone had just kept ringing. Cursing and swearing, he'd ended up taking what would have been a thirty-minute drive on foot, attempting to hitchhike. The cars didn't stop for him; perhaps it was the bruises on his face, and his dishevelled appearance from fighting, jumping out of a window, and travelling for miles on foot. Whatever it was, he was forced to walk all the way back into the city, finding himself in the Bronx, where he caught a cab to take him the rest of the way.  
  
Now, as the yellow car behind him pulled away into the sunlit morning, he stood dully in front of the glass lobby doors. They were closed, and the lights behind them were out. //It's not open yet?// he thought, having expected at least a few people to be around. He gave one of the doors a yank to test the theory. It was locked. //God damn it. Now what?// He had to get in, to change his clothes and get his car keys. And possibly pick up some coffee on the way home, to wake himself up. There was no way that he could present himself to Hilde in a school uniform, especially a torn and dirty one.  
  
Adjusting the way his backpack rested on his shoulders, he left the front doors and walked around the building slowly. The underground parkade was locked, and Duo saw a guard reading a magazine inside his little booth. He kept walking.  
  
At the very back of the building, a regulation fire escape snaked up the wall. The ladder at the bottom of it was secured about fifteen feet up, only meant to be released from above, by escapees. He squinted up at it, and then glanced at a big, black dumpster several feet away. There were some wooden crates beside it, partially dismantled. //I bet...// he mused. Quickly, he took off his backpack and red jacket, and stuffed both inside the dumpster. Next, he dragged the crates under the fire escape, setting up the two that were still mostly whole in a short tower. Climbing on top of the stack, he jumped as high as he could, swiping at the bottom of the ladder. He missed by about three inches, and nearly fell off of the stack of crates when he landed again. Undaunted, he slid off of the tower and found a third crate, dragging it over to sit in front of the tower, creating a makeshift staircase.  
  
He backed up several paces, aimed himself at the stairs, and then took off at a run toward them. He leaped up the stack and into the air, reaching up again and scraping at the cold, black-painted metal of the bottom rung. He snatched at it but missed, and felt the ground abruptly coming up to meet him. He barely landed on his feet, bending his knees low to absorb the impact. His feet stung.  
  
Two attempts later, he snagged the bottom rung of the ladder and hung there in surprise, his arm nearly yanked out of its socket. After dangling for a second, he grabbed the bar with his other hand and tried to pull himself up. He heard a loud screech of metal and was suddenly standing on the ground, holding the ladder that was now only six feet from the pavement. He glared up at it, silently cursing the godawful racket it had made as it unfurled itself.  
  
Claiming his backpack and jacket from the dumpster, Duo clambered up the ladder and made his way up to the third floor. The door was gunmetal grey, and had no doorknob on this side. Only the hinges showed. He attacked those with a pair of pliers he kept among his lock picks, tweaking, wiggling, and yanking until he'd pulled the pins out of the hinges. When that was done, he glared at the door. "I need a crowbar," he muttered, casting around helplessly. The fire escape creaked under him as he moved. The structure was in horrible shape, old, weak and rusting. He noticed that the bars connecting the railing and the platform had bad weld joints. And they were flat, like a crowbar. Drawing on what reserve strength he had left, Duo rattled the railing and found a bar that was looser than the rest. Positioning himself in front of it, he grabbed the railing with both hands, one on either side of the bar, and twisted as hard as he could, grunting under the strain.  
  
He heard a creak, a squeal, and a clatter as the weld on the bottom gave, and he suddenly had a partially disconnected bar. He put his sneaker-clad foot against it and pushed, holding the bar in one hand so that it wouldn't drop to the concrete two floors below. His leg shook a little with the strain, and he could feel the imprint of the bar through his shoe. He ground his teeth together and pushed some more, and finally the bar whizzed upward in his hand. He worked it back and forth until it broke free, and then turned his attention back to the door.  
  
He could just barely ram the makeshift crowbar into the crack between the door and the frame. When it was in, he braced himself and leaned with all of his weight on it, trying to pop the unhinged door out. He had to try it again, closer to the bottom of the door, and twisted the metal in his hands quite a bit before the door finally scraped open about an inch at the bottom. He excitedly stuck his hands in the crack and heaved outwards, his tired muscles and the fire escape all screaming at him to stop. After a lot of grunting and straining, he made a big enough gap to fit through, if he pushed his backpack through first. He squeezed through the hole, rolled to his feet, and saw that the door was twisted outwards, held in place at the top by the little metal arm that allowed it to close automatically.  
  
He shrugged his backpack on again and started moving quickly. //I had to have set off an alarm somewhere,// he thought. He had to be fast, if he didn't want to be found and shot. Luckily, there weren't many people who knew this building better than he did.  
  
He'd left his car keys on Helen's desk before he left for Clearwater, because he knew that she wouldn't lose them. He ran to an elevator, saw that it wasn't running, and made for the closest stairwell, right down the hall. It was behind a locked door, but he picked the lock quickly with his tools and shot up the stairs, hardly a moment wasted. On the fifth floor, he ignored the door, which was locked too, and instead balanced one foot on the doorknob and the other on the corner of the stairwell railing as he pushed up a ceiling tile. The hole was black and dusty, but a pipe ran right above it. He touched it with the back of his hand, felt that it wasn't hot, and grabbed it to heave himself into the hole. He balanced on the top of the wall studs over the door, and pulled up a tile directly in front of him to reveal the fifth floor hallway. He jumped down through the hole, ignoring the displaced tiles for someone else to take care of later. //Bastards deserve it for not opening the place up on Sunday morning. Who knows what a person could need in here?//  
  
He ran at full tilt down the hall, gasping for air and ready to collapse. At the very end was the door to Helen's office; he picked the lock, barged inside, and ran to her desk. His keys were sitting right where he'd left them, in the top drawer of her desk. Stuffing them in his pocket, he started contemplating a way out. He could dimly hear footsteps on the stairs in the quiet building: Security was on the move. //Up here, they'll probably shoot me,// he thought. Thinking quickly, he pushed open the wooden door to G's private office (which was never locked), and went over to the bookshelves. Through the large window, New York was getting busier, with the weekend breakfast rush starting. Duo scanned the bookshelf, running a finger along the titles, and eventually pulled a red leather book from the shelf. It was The Art of War, by Sun Tzu, and behind it was a small switch. Duo flicked the switch and quickly replaced the book as the shelf suddenly swung out, revealing a staircase. He walked into the opening and pulled the shelf closed behind him just as a security guard burst into Helen's office, wielding an AK-47.  
  
Duo walked quietly down the stairs for a minute, trying to get away from the office, and then started moving faster, heedless of any noise he was making. The stairs were narrow, lined by cinderblock walls, and lit by occasional halogen bulbs set overhead. He emerged on the training floor in a minute, pushing open the door to encounter darkness and silence. He knew a way out from here: a basement window in the explosives lab. He made his way into the lab, which was unlocked, and through the quiet room to the window. Just as he was reaching up to open it, he heard a voice behind him that made him jump.  
  
"What are you doing, Duo?"  
  
He turned around slowly. Ivanov was sitting in a chair at the front of the room, working on something by the light of a small lamp. Duo had been so intent on getting out by this point that he hadn't even noticed the man sitting there. "Did you know that this place is all locked up on Sunday morning?" he asked.  
  
Ivanov leaned back in his seat, an amused look visible on his face in the lamplight. "Really? It would never have occurred to me that they would be closed this early on a day of rest," he answered, laughing.  
  
Duo came over to the desk. "I needed my stuff, and I had to break in."  
  
The explosives expert nodded in understanding. "So that is why I got a call from Security barely five minutes ago, telling me not to go anywhere while they solved a security breach. Surely you could have phoned inside, and someone would have unlocked the door?"  
  
Duo glared. "No, no I couldn't. You see, that would involve using all kinds of common sense, which I am only capable of doing when I've slept the night before, rather than travelling thirty miles through the dark, nursing bruises."  
  
"You do look quite beat up. And you are home two weeks early, are you not? Did the mission fail?"  
  
"Yes, but it wasn't my fault. I was compromised, too, and I had to get the hell out. I tried my contact number, but it wasn't working."  
  
"We have been having a few problems with the phone system in the last twenty-four hours," Ivanov explained. "Do sit down; you look exhausted." He gestured to another chair.  
  
"If I sit down, I won't get up for days. I need a shower and some sleep. Maybe coffee, too."  
  
Ivanov laughed heartily. "In that case, I will let you get back to your window. If Security comes, they will not hear a peep from me about anyone robbing the building of their own belongings on Sunday morning, and they certainly will not hear that I allowed the thief to escape through my window."  
  
"Thanks," Duo grinned tiredly, before popping the casement open.  
  
"Come and visit me when you are rested up," Ivanov called after him. "We are going to begin testing on the fountain pen detonator in the next few days!"  
  
"Wouldn't miss that for the world," Duo answered before climbing outside, to get the guard to let him into the underground parkade. He would change his clothes in the Mustang and then drive home.  
  
***  
  
Hilde had just gotten dressed, and was sitting in the kitchen nursing a cup of coffee when she heard the front door open. //What the hell?// she thought, and got up to see what was going on. She was startled to see Duo standing in the entry, looking like something the cat had dragged in. "Jesus Christ," she gasped when she saw him. "What the hell happened to you? And why are you home? I wasn't expecting you for another two weeks!"  
  
Duo kicked off his sneakers and dragged a backpack into his bedroom. She heard his voice drifting down the hall behind him. "Had some problems with a few different things, and the trip ended up being cut short." He came out of his room, unravelling his braid so that his messy hair flew all over the place. "I was mugged on the way home, but I didn't have my wallet on me, so they just beat me up."  
  
"Oh god!" she cried, feeling terribly sorry for him. "Are you all right?"  
  
"Just scratched up, that's all. And I'm kinda tired. Jet lag."  
  
"I bet you are," she said sympathetically. "You want some coffee?"  
  
"Yes, please." He followed her into the kitchen and collapsed on a stool while she filled a cup for him. "How's work going so far?" he asked.  
  
"Oh...really good," she answered. "I'm learning a lot. They said I catch on fast." //I'm learning how to kill people,// she thought, //and I'm really good at it.//  
  
"Oh yeah? So they'll keep you on for a while?" He sipped his coffee.  
  
She sat down on the other stool. "I think so. I already got...a bit of a promotion. From errand girl to typist," she lied. //Different kind of promotion...straight to the top.// She remembered what the trainers had told her. //I was picked for obviously special qualities, that they saw right away. Only a few, special people get selected for the real operation. The office is a front, and now I'm working in the real business. But I can't tell anyone, especially Duo. I have to keep it a secret from him.// She felt a little superior to him now, knowing about the secret business behind the office. //Poor guy's still working for a company that doesn't exist.// Suddenly, she realized that he was staring at her expectantly. "Wh-what was that?" she asked distractedly, trying to clear her thoughts from her mind.  
  
"I asked you how things went while I was gone. Everything around the apartment was fine, right?"  
  
"Yeah, absolutely grand. Nothing broke, died, or exploded. Things were good."  
  
"Good," he answered. He drained the rest of his coffee as he got to his feet. "I'm gonna shower and then go to bed for a while," he said, putting his mug in the sink and leaving the kitchen.  
  
//I think this might be a hard secret to keep,// Hilde thought apprehensively in the quiet kitchen. //I have to stay vigilant. And I certainly can't practice my kickboxing in the living room anymore.//  
  
***  
  
Heero had awoken early Sunday morning from his drugged sleep, gradually realizing that he was sprawled, fully-clothed, on his bed in the dorm room while sunlight streamed in the open window. Shortly after that, he realized that he was in a lot of pain. He'd dragged himself into a sitting position, feeling bruises on his head, arms, and torso, and wondered what had happened to him. He'd looked dazedly around the room and saw the rumpled, empty covers on Scott's vacated bed and his gun on the floor. Both the closet and bathroom doors had been wide open, which wasn't their normal state. The fight of the previous afternoon had come back to him in stages, and he'd rubbed at the pinprick on his neck as he staggered into the bathroom to assess the damage.  
  
Parts of his face were a lovely shade of purple, and his left eye was a particularly livid lavender, swollen half-shut. Scratches covered his face, the prick on his neck had bruised, and his uniform was messy, slightly torn, and a little bloodstained.  
  
Now, Heero sat on his bed, rubbing Icy Hot onto his leg, the pain in which had flared up again from the exertion of fighting. He'd straightened up the room and stowed his gun in the little safe inside his locker. He wished he had it in his hand now, because he dearly wanted to shoot something. //That bastard got away from me twice. How did he manage it?// He stretched out his leg, grunting from the pain. //If I ever see him again, no matter where or why, I'll kill the fucker with my bare hands. Crowded street, high window ledge, whatever. I don't care. He's dead. No more hesitation.//  
  
Heero put on his good red jacket and hauled his suitcase out of the closet, ready to pack. He was leaving Clearwater today, and the limousine would be there in an hour.  
  
  
  
A/N: Ehehe, dramatic irony. Show that one to your English teacher. Actually, on second thought, don't. Give me some feedback, dammit. See you again on December 15. Hey, that's my brother's birthday. Oh, shit, I need to get him something! *runs away* 


	26. Mission Accepted

A/N: You're all going to like this one, I think. Things are getting exciting...  
  
Disclaimer: *picks up pen* I own this pen. *tries to pick up Gundam Wing, but discovers that you can't pick up an idea* Well, that was a useless effort at show-and-tell. But anyways, my point was, I don't own Gundam Wing.  
  
Deadly Beautiful - Chapter 26  
  
By danse  
  
~*~  
  
Noin leaned back in her chair and stretched like a cat, relishing the feeling as her tense muscles relaxed a bit. Her eyes felt dry after staring at a computer screen for the past three hours, not to mention the past three weeks.  
  
It all felt like one long, monotonous day to her. Upon her rescue from the smoking remains of the South African Taurus training base, she'd been brought back to the OZ headquarters in France (a place she'd been to only twice before), and had spent nearly a month filling in a vacant secretary's position while she waited for some kind of verdict regarding her actions before, during, and after the explosion. She still hadn't heard a word from the people in charge of her case.  
  
She took a sip of coffee. //The one good thing about being mired here with files and computers,// she thought, //is that I see Zechs almost every day.// She smiled with pleasure; that made the boredom of a desk job worthwhile. But the case...she'd spent a whole month in an almost constant state of worry over what would happen to her. Would she be court- martialled, suspected of collaborating with the terrorist? Would this damn desk become her home? Would she be stripped of her title and honours, and sent back home in shame to explain things to her family? She'd eaten little and slept even less since her rescue, and it was showing. Her clothes hung from her, she had no energy, and there were bags under her eyes. She jumped at shadows, and was really beginning to feel like she might break down and cry at any moment. //I'm so pathetic,// she thought. //I don't belong in the military. Should have stayed a teacher...//  
  
She sat up in her chair and glared at her computer screen, the colours and shapes blurring into invisibility in her vision as her mind did a downward spiral. Her hands gripped the arms of her chair, and she ground her teeth as the world turned red. "THAT'S IT!" she suddenly yelled, rocketing to her feet. The chair shot backwards on its wheels and nearly tipped over, unnoticed. She turned on her heel and marched out of her little office, grabbing her officer's jacket from a hook behind the door and putting it on as she stomped down the corridor, startling other people and drawing stares. She noticed nothing except the end of the hallway.  
  
In the otherwise-empty elevator, Noin paced in circles with her hands behind her back as she glared alternately at the floor and the little illuminated floor numbers over the door. When they read, '04', the elevator lurched to a stop and the doors slid open. She burst through them and walked down the upstairs corridor with steely determination. Officers and secretaries got out of her way, watching her retreating back as she made her way toward the office door at the end of the hall.  
  
When she reached the heavy, wooden door, she paused only for an instant before shoving it open and marching into the office. "Commander Treize!" she barked. The man behind the desk jumped and stared at her in amazement. He'd been typing on his computer when she'd walked in. To his credit, though, he recovered quickly, and smiled warmly as he gestured to a chair in front of his desk.  
  
"Lt. Noin," he said genially. "How nice of you to drop in. Please shut the door and make yourself comfortable."  
  
Noin hesitated, slowly shutting the door behind her and watching his outstretched hand hesitantly. Treize had held her rank when she'd graduated from military school, and had risen quickly since then. She'd met him previously, but had never really gotten to know him. She'd expected (and had been hoping for) a good shouting match, and possibly threats of punishment for insubordination, and had prepared herself accordingly. The gentlemanly, civilized gestures he was giving her were throwing her for a complete loop. She sat.  
  
"What did you need from me, Lieutenant?" he asked, leaning back in his seat. His blue uniform jacket was spread across the back of his chair, and the sleeves of his white dress shirt were rolled up to the elbows.  
  
Noin stared at her hands, trying to hide the awkwardness she felt. "Um, well, sir..." she groped for different words than she'd planned to say. "It's been a month since...well, you know...and I was wondering..." She looked up, feeling like a little girl, and was startled by his intensely blue eyes. "Have you come to a decision about my case yet?" she asked.  
  
"Ah, yes," he mused, staring thoughtfully into space. "The Taurus base...I must be truthful, Noin--may I call you Noin? Yes, I must admit a bit of unintended deception on my part. You see, I never actually filed your case. As far as my superiors know, you're not supposed to be in any kind of trouble at all. Which is how things should be." He must have immediately noticed the amazed look on her face, because he chuckled. "No one who knows about it believes that you are to blame, Noin. The terrorist was a worthy adversary, to escape from you. Zechs told me about how you got that nasty bruise that was on your shoulder, and I believe that you certainly weren't lying in your report, when you said that you 'gave chase'. I'm sure you gave that boy one hell of a chase." He grinned.  
  
"I...so...what..." Noin was too amazed for words. She'd spent three weeks worrying about a court-martial that would never come. "What have I been doing here for nearly a month, then?" she blurted out.  
  
"Recuperating, I hope," the Commander answered. "Why, where have you been keeping yourself?"  
  
"They've got me doing filing," she said.  
  
"Oh? How is that going for you, then?"  
  
She shrugged. "With all due respect, sir, I'm not a secretary. I'd rather be back in the field."  
  
"I thought you might say that. I actually have an assignment for you, if you think you can do it." He reached for a small pile of papers on the side of his desk, and handed one of them to her.  
  
"Liechtenstein?" she muttered. "What the hell's in Liechtenstein that's of any use to us? The whole country's probably smaller than this damn compound!"  
  
"A bit of an exaggeration, but you're close," he said. "To answer your question about what the hell's in Liechtenstein, OZ has some interests there that need checking up on. Lieutenant Zechs is also going; you would be accompanying him."  
  
Noin looked up from her paper sharply. "He is? I would? But," she looked back at her paper and mumbled the rest of her sentence, "I doubt he'd want me along, after South Africa."  
  
"As a matter of fact, he wanted you to go. He explicitly told me that he wished you were back on field duty, since he needs someone else to accompany him."  
  
Noin's heart thumped in her ears. "Seriously?"  
  
"Yes."  
  
"I'll go," she said abruptly, tossing the paper on the desk. "He must think I'm worth something, if he actually asked to have me there. Someone of that high calibre...it'll boost my reputation again." She stood up and turned to leave.  
  
"Lieutenant Noin..." Treize said, causing her to turn around again to face him. "I wouldn't sell yourself so short," he said seriously. "You graduated from Romefeller Academy with the second-highest grades in their history. That's nothing to sneeze at."  
  
Noin stood straight and proud, looking Treize in the eyes. "Zechs had the highest."  
  
Treize gave her an appraising look. "Yes...yes, he did, didn't he." It wasn't a question, and something lingered behind it, hidden in his tone. "Anyways, you are dismissed, Noin. Go have a nap; you two leave first thing tomorrow. I'll inform Zechs of the new circumstances."  
  
Noin saluted him and left the room.  
  
***  
  
At the Maganac headquarters in Saudi Arabia, Quatre had just gotten up for the evening. He sat in the moderately-busy cafeteria, picking at a bowl of fruit salad and contemplating some tea to wake him up a little more. He glanced up briefly when H rolled up to the table and stole a piece of strawberry from his bowl, but merely grunted a 'Hi'.  
  
"Good evening, Quatre," H said, much more eloquently. "May I ask how your new quest is going?"  
  
"You mean to find an army? I don't even know how to start. It's useless. I've been thinking about it from the moment you mentioned it, and I can't think up a viable plan. It sucks," he grumped, stabbing his spoon into a piece of cantaloupe to punctuate his sentence.  
  
H leaned back a little in his chair, staring at Quatre thoughtfully. "In all of the many years that I've known you, Quatre, I have never once heard the same degree of abject self-pity that you are displaying now. I can't say that it inspires me, either, so I can only imagine what it does for you." He tapped a nail on the arm of his chair. "Now, I know you have *something* cooking in that brain of yours, whether it's related to your non-existent army or not. Tell me; it will take your mind off of your problem."  
  
Quatre gave H a sidelong look, and then sighed. "I'm planning to attack an OZ base in Algeria. Rashid told me that he'd give me a few men."  
  
H nodded. "Good idea. When do you plan to do it?"  
  
"I want to leave in four days," Quatre answered. "Just enough time to prepare, and then leave."  
  
"I'll leave you to your business, then," H said, wheeling away. "Let the problem rest; things may solve themselves, right?"  
  
Quatre nodded. H left the cafeteria and went back to the War Room, heading for the big desk. He looked around the room to make sure he was alone, and then opened a desk drawer to reveal stacks of paper--hard copies of the data that had been obtained from OZ. He put the stack on his lap and flipped quickly through it, looking for a particular chart. He found it and made a triumphant noise, grabbing a pen from his pocket. After copying the co-ordinates and other details of the base that Quatre planned to attack onto a blank piece of paper, H replaced the data and left the room quietly, heading for his own quarters and the computer there, ready to initiate his new plan.  
  
He had some very important information to leak to four other people.  
  
  
  
A/N: You should all leave me a line or two about what you think of these intriguing new developments. And what's your favourite colour? 


	27. Protective Older Brother

A/N: Obviously it's a little late for Xmas, but please feel free to consider this your present, anyway. ;)  
  
Disclaimer: I honestly can't think of an interesting disclaimer, so: *deep breath* I don't own or pretend to own Gundam Wing or any of its parts or constituents, and I am not making any kind of money or receiving any payment whatsoever from this work. Gundam Wing is owned by Sunrise, or Sotsu, or Bandai, or something. I don't keep track of those kinds of things.  
  
Deadly Beautiful - Chapter 27  
  
By danse  
  
~*~  
  
Zechs looked up as Noin walked into the room. "Hey, Lucy," he said. "Have a good sleep?"  
  
"Better than the last month's worth," she answered, walking to his side. "I still can't believe you wanted me along."  
  
He looked around the room they were in, an empty office of the OZ headquarters. "We'll discuss that later, when we're on the road."  
  
She stared at him in confusion. //Is there something to hide?// she thought. She wasn't sure if he thought they were being eavesdropped on, or what. //Well, I can find out later,// she thought, dismissing it. Noin surveyed the stuff laid out on the floor in front of Zechs, supplies and equipment that were apparently needed for the assignment. She picked up her small, army-green duffel bag from where she'd dropped it at the door and brought it over to the pile. "Is this everything we're taking?" she asked.  
  
"Yes. We'll be driving, and masquerading as tourists if anyone stops us for any reason. Luckily, border checks are getting quite rare in the European Union, so we should be fine. You brought civilian clothes, right?"  
  
"I was told to," she said affirmatively.  
  
"Good," he said, starting to pack a laptop, paper, camera, and other information-gathering materials into a box. "Help me carry these things out, will you?" She obediently shouldered her bag and took a box, carrying it outside to the car they would be using. When she got out there, she saw with dismay that it was an old, white Renault with rust spots around the fenders. //Looks as old as me, and we're going to travel across the continent in it,// she thought. "It runs, right?" she asked him as they opened the trunk to put the gear inside.  
  
"Like a dream, apparently," he answered. "But I put a toolbox under the passenger seat, just in case."  
  
This was going to be an interesting trip, she could tell.  
  
"Well, let's get going, then, if you're all ready," Zechs said, closing the trunk and walking around to the driver's side. Noin opened her door and slid into the passenger seat as he started the engine with a rumble. //Here we go, all the way to Liechtenstein in a Renault,// she thought. //Road trip!// Somehow, the thought didn't excite her.  
  
***  
  
J sat at his desk, reading a report and idly playing with his claw, clenching and unclenching it with an almost silent whirr, when his intercom beeped. He pressed the button. "Yes?"  
  
His secretary's voice reached him. "Sorry to interrupt you, sir, but Oliver has some intelligence for you."  
  
"Send him in." He put the report at the side of his desk and adjusted his goggles as the door opened to reveal Oliver.  
  
"Good afternoon, sir," Oliver said. "How are you?"  
  
"I'm fine. What have you got for me?"  
  
Oliver came over to his desk and put a computer printout on it for J to examine. "We picked this up from a comm frequency four hours ago," he said. "We deciphered it and thought it might interest you."  
  
J read the paper, and his eyes went wide when he realized what it said. "You verified the translation?" he asked.  
  
"Twice, as procedure dictates."  
  
"Thank you very much, Oliver. You're dismissed."  
  
Oliver nodded and left the office quietly. J never heard him leaving; he was too busy thinking. He held in his hand the exact location of an OZ training base in Algeria, intercepted from an OZ communiqué, according to the log information at the top. //Why has this been handed to me?// he thought. //You don't just stumble on these things by providence.//  
  
After ten minutes of deliberation, he decided that no matter the source, this was too good to pass up. He'd send in his best agent in case of a trap, but he couldn't just let it go. This was an excellent chance to cripple the enemy and advance his organization's agenda.  
  
He pressed his intercom button again. "Sarah?" he said.  
  
"Yes?"  
  
"Find Heero Yuy and send him into my office, please."  
  
***  
  
All that could be heard in the Playroom was the machine gun sound of a peanut bag being pounded mercilessly. Trowa breathed through his nose as he pummelled it, rivulets of sweat running down his back. The muscles of his arm were starting to scream from the constant strain. Finally, the timer beside him beeped loudly, and he stopped punching the bag, lowering his arms with a sigh of relief and ripping off his gloves as the little red bag continued to swing back and forth.  
  
Grabbing a towel from the bench, he sat down and started rubbing the back of his neck dry, switching arms so that he could stretch them both out as he did it. After a few moments of rest, he got to his feet again, ready to start on the body-size kickboxing bag, but was interrupted by a timid knocking on the door.  
  
He opened it to reveal an agent he'd seen around the base, a kid around his age who'd been there for a year. The guy looked like he would rather have been anywhere but there, but he straightened and said, "S wants to see you right now."  
  
"All right," Trowa said, flinging his towel at the hamper in the corner and walking into the hallway. Completely ignoring the agent who'd come for him, he went on his way to S' office, still in his workout sweats and T- shirt. He walked in silence, lost in the same thoughts he had been for the last several days.  
  
He replayed his last conversation with Catherine over and over in his mind every day, and spent most of his free time trying to plan his escape from this compound, and this life. So far, he had no idea what to do. //If I try to leave, they'll find me. And they'll find her. They might not kill me, but they have no use for her anymore. I just found my sister; I don't want her to be killed because of me. I'm screwed...//  
  
He passed S' new secretary and walked into the office, where S sat at his desk with some printouts in front of him. "Have a seat," he said after Trowa had shut the door. When Trowa had obeyed and made himself comfortable, he started without preamble. "I have a new assignment for you, bigger than the jobs you've been doing since you got home. I think it will be more to your liking." He pulled a sheet of paper out of his pile and set it on top as he continued. "You obtained those reports for me in Saudi Arabia; the ones that had to do with an organization called OZ and something called the Zodiac Project. You remember?"  
  
Trowa nodded. "OZ was joining with Romefeller, and there was something about a militia. The Zodiac Militia."  
  
S smiled. "You have a good memory. This assignment has to do with that. We have obtained the exact location of an OZ military instalment in Algeria, and you are going to go in and sabotage it."  
  
Trowa raised his eyebrows. He would get to blow things up. This could be a memorable mission. "Tell me more," he said, leaning forward a bit. S smiled more widely.  
  
***  
  
Wufei was walking along a sunlit French boulevard, enjoying the scenery and temporarily relaxing his fiercely stubborn dedication to his task for the first time since tailing Une back to France and losing her somewhere in the countryside. He'd spent every possible hour since then trying to find where she'd gone, hoping that she would lead him to Treize. He'd had no luck yet; she might as well have turned into a lamppost.  
  
Suddenly, his beeper went off. He took one look at it and headed for the closest pay phone, digging change out of his pocket and stuffing it into the slot as he dialled. A recorded voice told him to input his six-digit access code, and as he did so, he idly wondered why phone recordings were always female. With half a ring, followed by a buzz and a click, he was put through to an office in China.  
  
"Chang Wufei," he said, and a deep, male voice responded in Chinese.  
  
"Hello, Wufei. This is O. I have a mission for you. You are going to destroy another OZ base, this time in Algeria. It will be done in three days, at 0200 hours. The numbers that will show up on your beeper next are the co-ordinates of its location. Do you understand?"  
  
"Yes."  
  
"Excellent. Good luck. Report to me in the usual manner when you have completed the mission."  
  
"Yes, sir. Goodbye." Wufei hung up the phone and walked back to the apartment he was renting in town, watching his beeper casually as a string of numbers crawled across its screen. He was memorizing them, and going back to input them into his GPS. After that, he would use some of his worldwide resources to equip himself for the operation; with only three days to get there, he had to move fast. He put Treize out of his mind temporarily to focus on the task at hand.  
  
***  
  
Duo looked up and frowned, glaring at the door. Muttering to himself, he went over and wrenched it open, bellowing, "WHAT?" at the person who'd interrupted him. It turned out to be Helen, and he immediately winced, regretting losing it on her.  
  
Helen didn't look the least bit intimidated by his outburst. "G needs you," she said primly. "Can this wait?"  
  
He gave her a funny look. "I'm extracting information from someone," he answered. "What do you think?"  
  
"Hmmm. He never told me that was what you were doing." She glanced at a clock on the wall inside the small, windowless room. "Can you be up there in fifteen minutes?"  
  
"Ask this bastard," he growled, leaving the door and walking back to the other man in the room.  
  
Helen looked at the state of the captive, went a bit pale, and shut the door behind her. She hated having to see that kind of thing, and she hated more that a nice boy like Duo was forced to do it.  
  
Duo heard the door shut, and looked back at the man who was restrained in the chair. He might have been twenty-five, and he was an agent of an enemy organization called OZ. His blond hair was messy and falling in his eyes, and tears of pain stained his cheeks. He was missing two molars, courtesy of Duo, and he had to keep swallowing blood. There was a pail beside the chair in case he threw up. He hadn't yet.  
  
"All right, buddy," Duo said companionably. "I'm sure you heard the lady. You have fifteen minutes, or I'm going to get really nasty. I *hate* being late." To encourage his victim to talk, he wheeled a large machine over to the chair and turned it on. It made a loud whirring sound as it warmed up, and some needles jumped in their gauges. He played with a dial on the side, and picked up a bare-ended wire. "Guess what this does when it touches your skin. I have a bucket of water handy, too, in case we need it." He smiled, and the OZ agent thought he was looking at the devil. "Electrical burns leave some interesting scars."  
  
Fifteen minutes later, Duo walked into G's office and sat in a chair, feeling slightly shaken.  
  
"How did it go?" G asked.  
  
Duo stared blankly at the tape in his hand for a second before tossing it on the desk. "His whole confession is on there."  
  
G picked up the tape and put it in a desk drawer before asking, "Are you alright, Maxwell?"  
  
"As much as I always am," he answered, crossing his arms and slouching in the chair. He really hated torture.  
  
G watched him with some concern, but decided to let it go for the moment. "You've got a new mission," he said.  
  
Duo looked up in surprise.  
  
"We've got some new intel about an OZ base in Africa. I want you to go and destroy it."  
  
"Single-handedly?"  
  
"At least cripple it badly. You can do that. I'll give you the equipment you'll need, and Ivanov's got some things in mind for explosives to use. You're to do it in three days, when the time is best for you. Get in and get out, got it?"  
  
"Understood. Shall I go get ready?" Duo stood up.  
  
"No need," G said quickly, getting up himself. "I have to go and discuss some things with Ivanov, anyway. I'll look after it. How about you go home and get some rest? You look a little disturbed."  
  
Acquiescing, Duo shrugged and left the office, ready to go out and burn away his day, if he could help it. Perhaps a walk through a park, or a trip to his favourite bar, where they never asked him how old he was, as long as he had money. He could drink himself into oblivion. Maybe he'd forget the screams of that agent today. Maybe.  
  
G watched him leave. //That was close,// he thought. //I can't risk him going to the training level, on the off chance he'd run into the girl. There'd be hell to pay then.// Shaking his head, he flipped his secret switch and walked down the revealed staircase to the training level.  
  
***  
  
Two hours into the trip, Noin was about finished staring at the French countryside as they drove through it, and turned her attention to Zechs. "So tell me what you wouldn't tell me earlier," she said. "What's going on here?"  
  
Zechs glanced at her and sighed, looking back at the road as he explained. "You asked why I wanted you along. It's because...Noin, I've known you since we were kids. Out of that whole damned organization, you are the only one I can trust with...certain things."  
  
"What things?" She was unbelievably curious.  
  
"You have no idea where I came from," he said.  
  
"Aren't you from Germany? Your parents are millionaires or something."  
  
"Not quite," he said. After a second, possibly drawing on his courage, he said, "Zechs Merquise isn't my real name."  
  
Noin raised her eyebrows and looked at him. "Really?" She couldn't think of anything else to say.  
  
"My real name is Milliard Friedenskraft. Peacecraft. I'm from Liechtenstein."  
  
"Frieden...Peacecraft?" She stared. "What?"  
  
"I'm a member of the royal family, and the crown prince of Liechtenstein." He looked at her again, trying to gauge her reaction.  
  
"Crown...prince..." she gasped hoarsely, completely disbelieving. "You're fucking with me," she said flatly. "I'm dreaming. This is a big joke."  
  
He smirked crookedly, amused by her frank response. "I'm not fucking with you. You're not dreaming. It's no joke. I can pinch you, if you want."  
  
She turned around in her seat to face him more easily. "Let me get this straight. I went through military school with royalty. You are in line to be the king of Liechtenstein."  
  
"Actually, I think that at this point, if I went back and formally announced my presence, and confirmed my identity, I would be crowned king. My parents have been dead for years."  
  
Noin's hand flew unbidden to her mouth, and she made a shocked noise. She'd known this man for so long, and she was learning now that everything she'd thought she'd known about him was a lie.  
  
Well, almost everything.  
  
"Obviously, you're not going to be formally announcing your presence when we get there," she said, settling back in her seat again. "So why are we going?"  
  
"I have a sister," he said. "I haven't seen or heard from her in years. She was living in the US, and now I think she's going back. I want to keep an eye on her."  
  
"A sister? What's her name?"  
  
"Relena."  
  
Noin digested this. "Why do you need to watch her?" she asked.  
  
Zechs shifted in his seat. "She's young. I think I know why she's going back; she doesn't know I'm alive. I want to make sure that she doesn't get taken advantage of, and that she stays safe."  
  
"And you're going to try to do it without her knowing you're there," Noin said, knowing that it was true, because she still knew his personality, if not his past. "Why, Zechs? You want her to claim that throne in your place, to take that honour--your birthright honour--at a young age, to do it all without ever knowing that she still has family alive and well? She'll need your support."  
  
"I think my support would only confuse and hurt her," he answered, "and also keep her from taking the throne, because it's supposed to be mine. I don't want that to happen."  
  
"Why don't you want the throne?" Noin couldn't understand. "It's your right. You could settle down, and get out of this organization that you don't trust. Have a family." The bottom nearly dropped out of her stomach as she said the last part, and she hoped she wasn't blushing as he looked at her again.  
  
"The throne of Peacecraft has always been based on the values of peace and pacifism. No blood was spilled to attain it, and there has never been a war under the rule of a Peacecraft monarch. My father was especially steadfast about his commitment to peace--even until he and my mother were assassinated.  
  
"I have been in war. I have killed. My hands are stained with the blood I've spilled, and because of that, I don't deserve to carry on the Peacecraft line and sit on the throne. My sister, who is still innocent and good, and who hasn't experienced the true evils of the world, is a much better choice to lead." He went dead silent after delivering his speech, and Noin could see the pain on his face. They drove on, and Noin was lost in thought as she looked out the window.  
  
  
  
A/N: How d'ya like them apples? Anyways, the sometime-review corner has been shuffled to the bottom, for the benefit of those who do not like to read it. I got smacked in the head by consideration. And thusly:  
  
Link: I am not a nitwit. You are. :P And thanks as always for your refreshing, meandering commentary. *laughs*  
  
Seph Lorraine (who, FYI, was review #69, a fact which amused me greatly, being as I'm a moron): Love the lovely compliments. I also am greatly entertained by the sheer volume of people who've been moaning about whether this is a 1+2 or 2+H. It makes me feel like an evil genius. *preens* Anyways. You'll find out the answer to that little conundrum long before the end of the story, if my mental plotline stays true. Apparently, no one read the blurbs at the beginning of the story, because I've had a few confused parties as to the time period. It's contemporary, but I didn't stick the year on it, because I didn't want to be tied down by all the lovely contemporary crap that's been going down lately on the world stage. Just know that you could go to NYC next Tuesday and (theoretically) see Duo skulking down the street in the dead of night. Did that make sense? I think I need to sleep. Ivanov, supposing that he was in his early-to-mid 30s when WWII ended (entirely possible), would now be in his early 80s. He's an explosives master, though, so I imagine he could keep doing it into his later years if the paycheque or the payoff was high enough (which you can assume it is, with G's group). Being that old doesn't mean he's nearly dead, though. My grandma, for one, is 80, and she travels the world. She looks ten years younger. Ivanov's not going to be doing anything physically demanding at his age, but don't count him out entirely. He's got the skills and strength to do his work. You left me a long review, I left you a long response. Happy holidays! (^.~) 


	28. Terrorist Convention

A/N: W00T! The DB website is up and running! It's at www. geocities. com/ inversification (remove the spaces). Or click the link in my profile, if you're a lazy bum. I won't hold it against you.  
  
Disclaimer: My cat, who is lying across my arms and impairing my ability to type, has told me to tell you that I don't own Gundam Wing. And also that I'm not making any money from this idiotic venture. (^.-)  
  
Deadly Beautiful - Chapter 28  
  
By danse  
  
~*~  
  
Quatre and two Maganacs lay flat on the ground, with their heads raised up just far enough to see over the little hill without being spotted. A perimeter guard lay unconscious a few feet behind them, bound and gagged.  
  
"What is the plan now, Quatre?" the taller of the Maganacs whispered.  
  
Quatre frowned, peering through the darkness at the OZ compound. The cloud cover over the moon made it very hard to see. Two guards stood near the door, their assault rifles slung over their shoulders as they talked casually. "I'm going to have to get in by the roof," he said. "That's the only way not to get shot immediately."  
  
The shorter Maganac, who had been listening to both of his comrades, turned his head sharply to stare at Quatre. "What do you mean, '*I'm* going to have to'? What about us?"  
  
Quatre reached around to the slide holster on his back and drew out a handgun. "You're staying out here, wherever you can hide," he said, checking to make sure the gun was loaded. "You're not getting hurt for my cause, if I can help it."  
  
"Then why are we *here*?"  
  
"Someone has to drive the getaway car," he grinned. Taking a deep breath to steady himself, he exploded suddenly to his feet and took off for a hedge that was ten feet away. When he reached it without being shot, he dropped to his knees with the hedge between him and the building, trying to catch his breath and calm himself down some more for the next step.  
  
Across from him and a little to his left, there was a ladder that led to the roof. A guard stood next to it, wiping at his nose. Possibly he'd sneezed while Quatre had been busy diving into the bushes. The teenager silently thanked his lucky stars, and quickly plotted out his next move. Digging into the knee pocket of his khaki pants, he pulled out a short, metal cylinder and screwed it onto the end of his gun. With the silencer thus equipped, he raised himself just high enough to see over the hedge, and peered with one eye down the barrel of his gun, aiming at the guard as his finger slowly depressed the trigger. A high-pitched burst game from the gun, and the guard convulsed and grabbed at his neck as he fell.  
  
Quatre waited for a second to make sure no one else was nearby, and then made his way stealthily towards the ladder. He stopped when he got there to inspect his handiwork on the dead man, lifting the lifeless, bloody hand away from the wound. //A centimetre from the jugular,// he thought. //That's why you don't snipe with a handgun. Oh well; dead is dead.// He dropped the hand, wiped his own hand on his pant leg, and climbed the ladder.  
  
***  
  
Trowa had just evaded two guards by slinking through the shadows, and had probably been on the roof for a full thirty seconds, looking for a way inside, when he heard the quiet, but unmistakable sound of silenced gunfire. He froze, swivelling around to watch the side where the noise had come from, and soon was rewarded by the slight clink of metal against metal as a dark shape hauled itself from the ladder to the roof. He immediately drew his gun, having nowhere to hide, and aimed it at the dark head with one hand while the other hand reached for a hunting knife at his belt.  
  
The other person tensed for a moment, knowing there were two of them up there, and then a break opened up in the clouds, providing enough moonlight for Trowa to see its reflection in the other person's eyes as they locked on him. As the world went dark again, they suddenly both had their guns drawn, almost shaking with tension.  
  
Suddenly, the other person slackened his guard, lowering the gun a little. "Trowa?" a familiar voice whispered. Trowa stared, trying to place it. Who did he know who would also be on the roof of an OZ base in the dead of night?  
  
"Qua-Quatre?" he whispered back incredulously. His arm slackened, the gun dropping until it hung from his grip at his side, and he stepped forward just as Quatre did the same. Soon, the two young men were peering at each other in the dark.  
  
"What the hell are you doing here?" Trowa murmured.  
  
"Blowing up an OZ base," Quatre said. There was laughter in his voice.  
  
Trowa grinned. "Want some help?"  
  
"Always."  
  
They searched the roof as a team, until they found a large vent cover to pry up. "After you," Trowa said, holding up the metal plate.  
  
***  
  
Wufei liked to stick to what worked for him, so he had opted to get in the normal way: by the door. He took full advantage of the cloud cover to pounce on a pair of chatting door guards, and took only seconds to knock both of them out with his bare hands. They never even had a chance to draw their guns.  
  
//They need to hire better help,// he thought as he took one of their weapons and opened the door. //How are they going to take over the world if they can't even protect their own bases?// He looked carefully around him as he stepped inside, gun at the ready. Last time, he'd had less than twenty minutes to find what he was looking for in the sprawling compound before that Amazon had found him. //If I hadn't figured out where I was going by then, I would have been done for.// One corridor went to his left, and the other to his right. //Eeny meeny miny mo,// he thought, and took the right.  
  
Thirty metres down the hall, he saw a black shape propped up against the wall. //Guard's sleeping on the job,// he thought, getting closer before he would fire. When he got there, though, he saw that something was horribly wrong. The man was slumped at an unnatural angle for sleep, his gun on the floor at his side instead of clutched to his chest, as they usually were. All at once, Wufei saw the pool of blood spreading around him and the blank, glassy look in the man's open eyes. He took a wary step back, his heart starting to pound. //This man's already dead!//  
  
***  
  
Heero jogged easily down the hallway, taking turns whenever the spirit moved him. He had two more shots left in his gun before he'd have to reload it. //I hope I'm getting close,// he thought. //Why the hell couldn't anybody find a floorplan for this place?// He ran past a fire extinguisher, did a double take, and back-pedalled. There were an alarm, an extinguisher, and an emergency escape chart on the wall. //Excellent,// he thought. //Blueprints.// Tracing with his finger from the dot that said, 'You are here', he found not only the generator room in the centre of the base, but a direct path to it, and a convenient exit from it after he was done. Smirking, he turned left and started running again.  
  
***  
  
Duo careened around a corner at top speed and nearly ran past the door he was looking for. Screeching to a stop, he glanced at the label on the door ('High Voltage-Do Not Enter') and pushed through it, holding his gun up as he went. What he saw in there stopped him cold.  
  
"*You!*" Duo gasped, putting pressure on the trigger of his gun.  
  
The boy kneeling on the floor had whipped around as soon as the door had opened. If looks could kill, the one on his face just then would have dropped a charging elephant. He had a gun in one hand, trained on Duo, and a wire in the other. "What the fuck are you doing here?" the boy he knew as Hikaru growled.  
  
"What are *you* doing here?" Duo retorted. "Get the hell out of my way. You're interfering with my work."  
  
Hikaru opened his mouth, but whatever he was going to say was cut off by the squeal of a vent cover swinging open. Neither boy relaxed their grip on their guns as they both turned their heads to see where the noise was coming from, but when a blond-haired boy in khakis dropped through the hole and landed lightly on the floor, they both automatically swung their weapons to aim at him instead. The boy looked up at them, and his eyes went wide. In one fluid motion, he had rolled behind a desk in the corner and pulled his own gun on them, watching apprehensively.  
  
To further the unexpected surprises for the two who'd been in the generator room first, the blond was followed by another, much taller boy dropping from the hole in the ceiling. Two guns swung from the boy behind the desk to the newcomer, who stared at them both and backed up, raising his gun. All four of the young men in the room had now pulled guns on each other, and they all looked horribly confused. //What the hell is going on?// Duo thought.  
  
When a Chinese teenager with an assault rifle burst through the door and nearly crashed into him, Duo decided he'd had all he could take. "Jesus Christ!" he yelled. "Is there some kind of convention going on that I don't know about? Who the hell are all of you?"  
  
The boy behind the desk rose slowly to his feet, keeping his gun trained on Duo. He spoke to the boy with the wire in his hand. "Are you doing what I think you're doing?" he asked.  
  
"That depends on what you think I'm doing," the boy responded in icier tones than Duo had ever heard.  
  
Trying a different tack, the blond said, "Are we all here to destroy this base?"  
  
Duo looked around the room, studying everyone's faces. The tall guy was leaning against the wall now, but his gun hadn't moved from its ready state. The blond was gaining confidence every second. Hikaru had raised an eyebrow at the question. The Chinese guy behind Duo was biting his lower lip. He looked like he was trying not to laugh. //Dear god, we're all idiots,// Duo thought, and lowered his gun.  
  
Everybody looked at him as he did it, and he gave them all a cocky grin. "So, whose bomb are we going to use?" he asked.  
  
***  
  
As the guy who had yelled--the one with the braid--lowered his gun, one thought ran through Quatre's mind.  
  
//I've found my army.//  
  
He looked at the other four people. Trowa, of course, he could trust as a friend. The one who was kneeling (his bomb was already half-wired, so they would most likely use it) looked dangerous. //But I bet, once you earn his trust, you'll never lose it,// Quatre thought. The one with the braid looked prone to speaking his mind; he was a lively one. The guy standing closest to the door though, the one who'd come in last, gave Quatre an uneasy feeling. //He's a lone wolf. I can read it all over his face. He's got his own agenda...//  
  
Quatre stepped forward, putting away his gun and raising his hands in a gesture of peace. He could see Trowa holstering his own gun out of the corner of his eye. "I'm Quatre," he told the group, "and we all seem to have the same agenda, so can we do this in peace?" He looked pointedly at the guy who was kneeling, who still had his gun out and was looking at his unwanted, braided comrade in a very murderous way. The boy caught Quatre's drift, though, and put his weapon away as he gave Quatre an icy blue stare. Muttering something unintelligible, he turned back to the bomb he was wiring.  
  
Rolling his eyes and giving that guy the finger behind his back, the braided one extended his other hand. "Duo Maxwell," he said. "It's nice to meet you, and I'm glad I didn't kill you when you dropped in. Work like this just isn't good for meeting people, you know?" He grinned, and Quatre returned it.  
  
Trowa stepped away from the wall and joined them. "Trowa," he said with a nod of greeting.  
  
The Chinese guy sighed. "My name's Wufei," he grumbled, knowing he was stuck with revealing himself. He didn't shake Duo's extended hand. Duo raised an eyebrow, but didn't say anything. Instead, he walked over to the still-unidentified guy, who was almost done with his bomb. "And you are...?" he asked, bending over him to watch him work.  
  
"...Still going to kill you," the boy growled. He didn't look up.  
  
Duo winced. "Don't be so coy; tell me what you *really* think." He backed away, all the same.  
  
Quatre watched the exchange with interest. Obviously they'd met before. He gave Duo a questioning look. Duo smirked and pointed at the boy's eye. "See that?" he asked, pointing at the yellowish remains of a black eye. "I gave him that. The rest is probably faded by now. Did you have a nice nap that day, buddy?" he cooed. The boy ignored him, dusting off his hands and standing up.  
  
"It's done. We have five minutes to get very far away," he said in his cold voice. "I'm surprised no one's come after us, with all the noise you've been making."  
  
"I bet between the five of us, we've already killed every guard in the place," Duo said.  
  
"Guys?" Trowa said suddenly. "Wufei's gone."  
  
They all looked around and saw that he was right. Taking that as a cue, they left. Duo took the door, and the other three left via a ladder to the roof, the same route that Wufei had taken. As Quatre and Trowa followed the other boy to the closest ladder, Quatre called after him. "Hey, you!"  
  
Reluctantly, the boy stopped and half-turned. "What?" he growled.  
  
"You never told us your name!"  
  
Quatre thought he wasn't going to answer, but just before he disappeared down the ladder, his voice drifted over to them. "Heero."  
  
"He's a weird one," Trowa said as they clambered down the ladder, jumping off a few rungs from the ground and running. There was no sign of Heero; he'd vanished.  
  
"How long do you think we have left?"  
  
"About two minutes. Run faster."  
  
They ran as fast as they could until the explosion consumed the compound. A shock wave made Trowa stumble, and Quatre was pushed forward. He landed on all fours on the ground as heat seared their backs. Luckily, they were far enough away to not be hurt.  
  
Quatre turned over and flopped on his back, panting, and Trowa sat next to him as they watched the fireball dissipate in the sky. "Trowa..." he said finally.  
  
"Yeah?"  
  
"How can I keep in contact with you?"  
  
Trowa blinked and frowned, but then he understood. "You want help with this kind of thing?" he asked.  
  
Quatre watched the ash floating across the overcast sky, light against the clouds. "I have a list of several OZ instalments, worldwide. There's something going on here, and I can't fix it alone."  
  
Trowa nodded thoughtfully. "There's a post office box in Kirkini, Greece, that I use sometimes," he said. "Box 3724. You can send messages there; it's private. I can check it about once a week."  
  
"That works for me," Quatre said. He got to his feet. "See you, Trowa," he said, and walked away. The Maganacs would be waiting about a mile away with their Jeep. Behind him, the base was already starting to burn itself out.  
  
  
  
A/N: *nudge* Eh? Eh? So what did you think? (^.^)  
  
Seph Lorraine: Yeah, FF.N has been acting moderately screwy, as of late. What can you do, though? Glad you like Noin. What's wrong with my timeline? *bristles* Yeah, I don't know. I just get hostile. It can probably be controlled with medication.  
  
Link: (O.o) ... You need a hobby.  
  
gundam06serenity: I love your enthusiasm. In fact, I love it so much, I granted your wish. (^.-) 


	29. The Royal Tour

A/N: Hello, my pretties. I am in a hurry, so I must adjourn this note right after saying VISIT THE OFFICIAL DB SITE. Link on my author page.  
  
Disclaimer: I've said it before and I'll say it again: I don't own Gundam Wing.  
  
Deadly Beautiful - Chapter 29  
  
By danse  
  
~*~  
  
Noin turned a page in her book. It was the beginning of their third day in Vaduz, Liechtenstein, and they'd spent most of their time so far parked in one of three alleys (they switched periodically) just down the street from a huge estate. The palace, Zechs had said. It certainly was palatial- looking; it must have covered close to four acres, in the heart of the city. The house was built from white stone and had more wings than a flock of sparrows, and the gardens were a French-manicured green field, filled with new flowers in a riot of colours. //Zechs grew up here,// she'd thought with some awe, when she'd first seen it.  
  
After three days of staring out of the car window at it, it was just a building the size of a shopping mall, and that was it.  
  
"Tell me again why we're here, spying on your old house?" she grumbled, staring at her book. She'd read it before.  
  
Zechs was still watching the estate intently through the window, with the same hawk-like attention he'd had since they'd gotten there. "Waiting to see if and when my sister shows up," he said. "I checked, and she was supposed to have been on a flight to Vaduz yesterday." He turned his head to look at Noin briefly. "Jesus, Lu, you didn't have to come."  
  
"You didn't tell me what we were doing until we were halfway to Paris," she muttered. If Zechs heard her comment, any reaction was lost in his sudden excitement as he turned back to the window.  
  
"There she is! That's her!" He pointed at the window, and she crawled out of her spot in the passenger seat to look through the back window with him. Around the edge of the building they were parked snugly against, she saw the tail end of a taxi as it pulled up to the front gate. Two women got out.  
  
"Are you sure it's her?" Noin asked. She didn't like to make wild assumptions.  
  
"Positive," Zechs said. He picked up a pair of binoculars from the car floor and looked through them. "Yes--she looks just like our mother."  
  
Noin stole the binoculars from him and focussed them on the pair to see more clearly. The younger one drew her attention. //Zechs' sister,// she thought. The girl was of average height, with long blonde hair and--Noin squinted to see--blue eyes. The shape of her face actually resembled that of the man beside Noin, especially around the nose. //His mother looked like that...his family...// She numbly handed the binoculars back to him and settled back against the seat. "So, now what?" she asked.  
  
Zechs went back to looking through the window as the two women shut the cab door and walked out of sight, towards the front gate of the palace. "...I don't know," he answered finally. He flopped back against the seat and looked at Noin tiredly, betraying his lack of sleep for the last three days. "I was half-expecting to never see her at all," he said with a weak smile.  
  
Noin blew a strand of dark hair out of her eyes and stared out of the window next to her, studying the brick wall that was close at hand. If he was too tired to plot, then that left it up to her.  
  
***  
  
Relena stared in wide-eyed wonder at the city as the taxi navigated through it. She was still jet-lagged from the previous day's flight, but she couldn't possibly sleep; she might miss something.  
  
She'd spent most of the waking hours since their landing in Vaduz wondering both privately and vocally when they were going to go and see her house. She'd tried not to harass Mrs. Darlian too much since the funeral, because she was still in deep mourning, but although Relena cried at night the same as her mother did, during the daylight hours, her life had gotten too busy and exciting to think much about it. //That's the key,// she thought, //keep busy.// She stole a glance at Mrs. Darlian, who was staring quietly out of the other window. At first, she'd pointed out some landmarks in town as they passed, but after several minutes silence had fallen. Relena knew what she was thinking of. //She sees Dad everywhere,// she thought, noticing a few mascara-darkened tears in her mother's reflection, prominent against images of parks and buildings whizzing by.  
  
Realizing that Mrs. Darlian's grief was meant to be private, Relena went back to looking through her own window at the world. They had stayed in a hotel the night before, and now were taking a taxi to the estate where Relena had once lived. There was a twice-weekly tour of the place, and it started in half an hour. The middle-aged cab driver had raised his eyebrows when they'd told him where they wanted to go, and had given Relena a long look. A curt word in German from Mrs. Darlian had been necessary for him to stop staring and start driving. Relena wondered what had happened, because there was obviously something going on there that was over her head.  
  
That was another thing, this language barrier. While she'd been counting down the days to this trip, she'd entertained private fantasies that once she was here, in her long-lost homeland, she'd suddenly unlock a hidden part of her mind and be able to speak and understand German perfectly, just as she apparently once had. All it would take was a friendly hello from a stranger, or words from a shopkeeper, and just like that, she could understand them and give a witty or welcome reply. Of course, that didn't happen at all. It was all gibberish to her, and she had no idea how to respond. Luckily Mrs. Darlian was a good, if somewhat rusty, interpreter, or Relena might have died from the culture shock. //I want to understand,// she thought desperately. It was frustrating, this lack of knowledge where it had once been.  
  
The cab pulled up to the curb and stopped, and Relena stared at the mansion of white stone. It was a cross between the White House and her own expensive home in New York, but four times the size. "This is it? This is the place?" she asked.  
  
"Yes," her mother said. Relena noticed the black-streaked tissue as it disappeared back into Mrs. Darlian's purse. "Let's go." She paid the cab driver and motioned for Relena to get out.  
  
"Welcome to the royal palace of the house of Friedenskraft," Mrs. Darlian said ceremoniously as they stepped onto the broad sidewalk outside the gates.  
  
Relena continued to stare at it, trying to reconcile it with any memory she might have locked away. Nothing came. It certainly wasn't the castle she had dreamt of, either. She felt a little embarrassed when she thought of her notions of medieval-style kings and princesses. //Of course it's not a castle,// she berated herself. //We're not in the tenth century. I bet it has a pool, too,// she thought, appraising the building. She followed her foster mother up the sidewalk and through the open gate. There were three people standing around outside the ornate front door, probably waiting for the tour to begin.  
  
At the exact time that the tour was supposed to start, the front door opened to reveal an old man in a butler's uniform, blinking in the spring sunlight. His eyes locked almost immediately on Relena, and she saw a minute flicker in his calm expression before he stepped back and said, "Right this way, please," in German.  
  
Relena trailed along behind the group as they walked inside the house. The foyer had a white marble floor, veined with black, spidery lines. Tall plants reached toward the vaulted ceiling, and cherry wood tables just inside the door held pamphlets in German and French for visitors. The butler paused just long enough for people to take copies before proceeding along a route lined with red velvet ropes and carpeted with a worn, red runner, pausing at certain rooms to talk to the group. Mrs. Darlian quietly translated everything he said into Relena's ear. Relena watched and listened in rapture as they journeyed through the house, scarcely able to believe that this sprawling, wealthy manor used to be her family home.  
  
They walked in a large loop through the main part of the building and stopped at the end of the tour near the foyer, standing in front of a large painting. The tour guide stopped with the assembled group right in front of Relena, obstructing her view of both the painting and the rest of the group, which annoyed her to no end. She was about to open her mouth and say something when the guide suddenly announced something loudly in German to the group which prompted them to file slowly back to the foyer and out the door.  
  
"Tour's over," Mrs. Darlian whispered to her. "Time to go. Did you enjoy it?"  
  
They followed the group out the front door. "It was really interesting," Relena said. "But a bit weird. I was on a tour through my old house!" She said the last part as quietly as she could manage, so she wouldn't attract attention. Mrs. Darlian smirked.  
  
They were just about to descend the front steps, where two of the people from the tour still stood, talking, when a voice came from behind them, speaking in heavily accented English.  
  
"For people who are interested in a better look at the residence, there is a special extra tour. You may be interested, Miss Relena."  
  
Relena's eyes widened in surprise, and she turned around quickly. The elderly tour guide was standing in the doorway again, holding the door open as he looked at them. He scratched at his grey moustache and smiled at them both. "H-how do you know my name?" she asked warily.  
  
The man glanced at Mrs. Darlian before looking back at Relena. "Would you like to have a better look at the house, Miss?" he repeated. He held the door open a little wider and beckoned, like a butler.  
  
Relena raised an eyebrow, glanced at the unreadable Mrs. Darlian, and walked back to the door. The man bowed as she stepped inside, followed closely by her foster mother. The door closed behind them, bathing the three of them in cool, shaded solitude. Relena scrutinized the man. "How do you know my name?" she asked again.  
  
He chuckled and led them back down the hallway they'd exited the tour from, stopping in front of the painting again. This time, Relena could see it, and she gasped in shock. It depicted four people: a strong-jawed man with pale, blond hair that hung to his shoulders and a stubbly beard; a young boy with hair like his father's; and a woman holding a baby swaddled in white lace. The woman smiled lightly at the painter, cradling the baby near her heart. Relena might have been looking in a mirror when she saw her--that was her jaw, her nose, and her eyes. The woman's hair was a slightly darker honey-gold than hers, and was styled into a braid that crowned her head like a tiara. "Oh, my god..." she breathed, stepping forward with her hand extended, as if to touch it.  
  
"That is Queen Katrina, with her husband, the great King Wilhelm, and their children, Prince Milliard...and Princess Relena." The man smiled softly as she turned to look at him, tears starting to brim in her eyes.  
  
"...You were standing in front of me when you showed this painting."  
  
The man smiled. "I did not want to give the rest of the group such a good opportunity to put two and two together, so I blocked their view of you. There is no need for the nation to know that the house of Peacecraft has returned until you are ready to tell them."  
  
"Who are you?" she asked finally.  
  
The man bowed. "My name is Pargan. I have served the family faithfully for years...even in their absence. I remember both you and your brother as children. Your parents were truly wonderful people." He looked at Mrs. Darlian and smiled. "Allison! It is good to see you. How is Edward?"  
  
"Er ist tot," she said, reverting to German, though whether because of the volume of her grief or because of the setting, Relena couldn't say. Pargan's face fell in shock, and he muttered something under his breath, moving to embrace the widow. She collapsed in his arms, and Relena was paralyzed to see the steadfast woman she'd known as her mother for years break down so completely, sobbing and wailing with careless abandon into Pargan's shoulder. Pargan rubbed her back in soothing circles and murmured things in her ear as she let it all out. Relena couldn't watch for very long, and shortly wandered back down the hall, trying to distance herself from the scene.  
  
At length, the distant sounds of sobbing stopped, and Pargan and Mrs. Darlian joined Relena, who was looking at another painting down the hall. "Relena, Pargan and I have some things to discuss. We're going to sit in the parlour over there," she pointed at the entrance to a sitting room down the hall, "and have some tea. He says you can look around the house, if you want. Make sure you don't get lost, though."  
  
"Also, keep in mind that most of the furniture is covered in dust cloths, to keep it clean," Pargan added. "Most of the rooms are not very interesting, due to their lack of use, I am afraid."  
  
Relena nodded, and watched as the two adults wandered into the parlour, already talking quietly in German. She frowned at their backs and went exploring through the maze of hallways and empty rooms that was her family's house, trying to picture a kind woman who looked like her, and a kingly father figure playing with a platinum-haired little boy. It didn't work.  
  
  
  
A/N: Isn't it splendid? I think perhaps next chapter, or at the latest the one after that, we see some action from our two favourite OZzies, and we'll find out the results of Pargan's and Mrs. Darlian's little chat. I know you're all horribly excited. And now, some reviewer's corner:  
  
/Seph Lorraine/ needs a Spy!Heero plushie. "The name's Yuy. Heero Yuy."  
  
/gundam06serenity/ is getting almost as excited as I am about the whole thing.  
  
We all know who /Link's/ shipping for.  
  
/Die Spitze/ has been waiting for that chapter for a long time.  
  
/MintyPill/ is already learning that showering me with compliments works to her advantage. All in good time, my dear. I can't get ahead of myself...  
  
/Everyone else/ agrees that I should write more and faster. Hmm. Perhaps the time is coming when I should give you a double update. You've all been exceptionally fun readers so far. I will try to find the time and inspiration, and we'll see what we can do. 


	30. Nightmares

Disclaimer: I'm going to Switzerland this summer, and university in the fall, and I can't afford to be sued, so please let the higher-ups in charge of GW never find me or take me to court. Will it help if I readily admit that I don't own Gundam Wing in any way, shape, form or dimension?  
  
Deadly Beautiful - Chapter 30  
  
By danse  
  
~*~  
  
Trowa absently twiddled the car keys around his finger as he strolled towards the main door of the compound on the upper level. He raised an eyebrow and ever so slightly nodded at the large man in the red shirt, who was about to pass him. As they drew even with each other, the large man stopped. "She wants to know if you have a plan yet," he murmured.  
  
"Working on the details," Trowa whispered back before moving on. Actually, that wasn't the truth. There weren't any details to work on, yet. He needed a plan first, before he could have the details. He shook his head in frustration as he pushed open the outer door and stepped into the warm early afternoon.  
  
Less than five minutes later, he was in a black sedan, racing with practiced ease along the curves and bends of the road leading to the closest town. He was headed for Kirkini from there--a ninety-minute drive. He left the compound once a week to sample the real world and soak up the rarely-seen fresh air and sunshine, usually heading for the same Greek town. He liked the people and the scenery there. About six months ago, he'd set up a post office box to communicate with his many contacts in the Mediterranean.  
  
When he finally pulled up in front of the post office in Kirkini, the sun was at its peak, and it hurt his eyes to look at anything. He shaded them as he walked inside the building, pulling a small key from his pocket to unlock his box. A small, white envelope lay inside, half-obscured by a magazine he got weekly as a decoy. Pulling both items out, he quickly shut the box and tucked the envelope into his back pocket, curling the magazine in his hands as he walked back out into the sunlight. His favourite cafe was down the block, and he went in to buy lunch to appease his snarling stomach.  
  
Settling down with juice and a sandwich at a corner table, he finally pulled the envelope out of his pocket and opened it. A few lines were printed neatly on crisp, white note paper: '42.5 N 42.3 E Georgia, 06/11, 0230 hours. Infiltration and destruction. With or without you. Equipment provided. Meet at Athens 06/10, 1245 hours. You have twenty minutes to be there or you miss the boat. PS. Let's not use the vents this time?'  
  
Trowa smirked as he reread the message and then tucked it back in his pocket. //Sounds good to me,// he thought as he finished off his sandwich. June 10th...that was only about two weeks away. //Have to start planning my getaway. Too bad I can't just book time off from work.// He slurped his juice and opened the magazine, trying to reorganize his brain as he temporarily pushed Catherine to the back.  
  
***  
  
"So, what were you and Pargan talking about yesterday?" Relena asked. She was lying on her mother's bed in their hotel room, staring at the ceiling while Mrs. Darlian walked out of the bathroom, toweling her hair dry.  
  
The older woman walked to her suitcase and picked out some clean clothes to wear as she answered. "We were discussing where to go from here. I told him we've just come to visit, and we talked about Edward, and your brother, and the country. It's become more or less democratic over the years, I knew that from keeping an eye on the news, but a constitutional monarchy is not out of the question. In Pargan's opinion, the return of the royal house would be a huge national morale booster."  
  
"And what does all that mean?" Relena asked, moving her head to look at her foster mother as she moved, fully dressed now, to sit in the chair opposite Relena, basking in the morning sunlight that streamed through the curtains.  
  
Mrs. Darlian wore an unreadable look. "I guess that means that once you come into your majority, you can sit on the throne."  
  
Relena sat upright suddenly, and her piercing blue stare went right to the older woman's bones, giving her a strange feeling of foreboding. "And until then? What will I do?" she asked excitedly.  
  
Her mother crossed her arms, feeling uncomfortable. "I'd like for you to go back to the States to finish high school, at least. College would be good, too. Grand rulers need to be wise in the ways of the world, you know." She said the last bit teasingly, trying to lighten the mood. It didn't really work.  
  
"There was a 'but' in your tone," Relena said, refusing to be diverted from her train of thought.  
  
Her mother sighed, knowing there was no escape now. "Pargan informed me that there's a lovely private school here in Vaduz for 'cultured young ladies', as he puts it. You most likely would have gone there, had you not left."  
  
"Had you not taken me," Relena muttered, looking at the carpet.  
  
Her words didn't go unnoticed. "Would you rather be dead?" her mother snapped. "Because you would be, if Edward and I hadn't gotten you out. Sometimes, you need to be a little more grateful for what you have. It could be a lot worse!"  
  
Relena stared at her in shock, completely floored. She'd never seen her mother snap at her so suddenly. As the shock faded, she looked at the woman in front of her, really looked, for the first time in her life. She had strong, handsome features, molded by an exciting and somewhat dangerous life into the kind of attractiveness that can only come with age and experience. Her fading blonde hair was pulled back into a ponytail, framing light blue eyes that were tired, sad, and travel-weary, but still defiant. Relena realized that she looked a lot older than she had a week ago. //She fled her home country as a favour, with a baby who didn't belong to her, and raised me thousands of miles away as her own. Her husband died and now her life's been turned around. And here I am, being a brat.// Her respect for Allison Darlian increased tenfold in that instant. //If I'm half that patient, brave, and wise when I'm her age, I'll be lucky.//  
  
"I'm sorry," Relena whispered. She got up, walked over to the chair, and hugged her mother. "I'm sorry for everything." They clung to each other for a moment, soaking up the warmth and comfort before breaking apart and getting back to business. "Now, what was this about a school?" she asked.  
  
***  
  
In another, much less expensive inn twenty blocks away, Noin was having a lovely dream involving whales, ice cream, and sandcastles when a cassette tape of the Reveille started playing next to her ear.  
  
Her eyes snapped open and she sat bolt upright, hands automatically moving into a combat position as she looked wildly around the room for an intruder. Instead, she saw Zechs, perched fully-clothed on the end of her bed, waving the tape player and smirking. "Rise and shine, Lucy. Were you planning to sleep all day?" he asked teasingly.  
  
She looked across the room to his bed. It was already made to quarter- bouncing standards. Frowning, she glanced at the alarm clock on the table between the beds. The electric red numbers said that it was quarter to ten. "Jesus," she growled, rubbing her eyes and scratching her head as she yawned. "Why didn't you wake me sooner? And why did you wake me with *that*?" She looked pointedly at the tape player in his hand.  
  
"I have a sick sense of humour," he said. "And you were sleeping so peacefully. I thought you could use the rest."  
  
She stared at him, and then shook her head. "Thanks...I think." She gestured at his bed. "You know, they have cleaning staff who get paid to make the beds."  
  
Zechs shrugged. "Force of habit." He studied his fingernail as Noin slid out of bed and padded into the bathroom in boxers and a camisole. "Did you think up a master plan yet?" he called after her.  
  
A muffled 'Nope' was just audible over the sound of the shower turning on. He smirked and started making her bed.  
  
***  
  
//Oh, god,// Hilde thought dimly. //Not this again.//  
  
She was in the car, her seatbelt snug against her as she looked out of the rain-streaked window. Her parents and brother were talking in muffled voices because she hadn't been listening to them at the time. She saw dirty, pink sneakers on her feet. She was singing a song under her breath and she couldn't stop, even though she tried to every time.  
  
//No...no...get me out of here,// her thoughts whimpered. She kept singing, watching raindrops larger than life.  
  
She saw the rain flash ruby and amber and heard her mother scream as the car lurched.  
  
*  
  
In New York, it was nearly four in the morning. Duo was buried in a heap of blankets, sleeping peacefully, when a sudden, piercing scream roused him.  
  
"What the--" he yelped, startling awake. Adrenaline pounded through him as he sat upright, breathing heavily and trying to see through the darkness of his room as he groped for the drawer of his bedside table. His hand found the handle and wrenched it open, revealing the loaded handgun inside as his sleep-addled brain tried to figure out where the scream had come from. //Hilde!// he thought suddenly, taking the safety off of the gun and stalking out into the equally dark hallway.  
  
*  
  
//Oh no, oh god, the glass, the metal... it smells like burning rubber...// There was rain on her face and it was mixing with the blood and she heard this horrible wailing, and it was her, oh god, it was her. "Mom...*Mo-o-o- o-om!*"  
  
Will's head was nearly in her lap, and she touched it and screamed. He was strong, and older--this wasn't supposed to be happening. He was supposed to protect her.  
  
*  
  
Duo's eyes adjusted to the dark and he tuned all of his senses to the quiet apartment. He saw no shadows of menacing figures outlined against the lighter walls, and heard no footfalls. He moved into the living room, and another scream nearly made him drop the gun. He ran to the couch and saw Hilde there, sweating and tangled in the blankets as she moved around frenetically, deep in a nightmare. She was muttering under her breath now, but he couldn't make out the words.  
  
Duo carefully put the safety back on the gun and hid it behind the couch before addressing the problem. //I have to wake her up before she wakes the neighbourhood,// he thought. //But what do I do? You're not supposed to touch them, are you?// He knelt there helplessly for a minute, mired in indecision, before finally reaching hesitantly for her shoulder. "Hilde...Hilde, wake up," he said softly.  
  
*  
  
She could hear growling. //Monsters? Never monsters before...// she thought.  
  
One of them crawled up to the car, a twisted hunk of metal and glass, and sniffed her. It smelled the blood, that had to be it. //Nononono, not this, no, not this...// She felt for Will's cold hand. She couldn't find it. Suddenly it was on her shoulder. Just the hand, dead and already rotting and sitting on her shoulder. She was too paralyzed to scream again, so she stared at it. //I just... have to... get it away... and it'll be good again...// her mind panted. She tensed herself. //Ready...//  
  
"GET OFF!" She flung it away.  
  
*  
  
The instant his hand touched her shoulder, her whole body tensed up. Her eyes opened, unseeing, and her hand grabbed his wrist. Before he could react, she yelled, twisted his wrist, and shoved him several feet away with one hand. He stumbled backwards in surprise, overbalanced, and crashed to the floor, catching his hip on the coffee table on the way down. Pain flashed through his brain, and he curled up into a ball. "Owww, fuck," he moaned, holding his side. It would probably leave a disgusting bruise. There was something more alarming than that, though. He eased himself upright and stared at her.  
  
In his experience, Hilde was bad at fighting. She scratched, bit, kicked and swore, but couldn't really hold her own. She'd just used a basic martial arts-style technique on him in her sleep. One that he could still remember learning in combat training under G, back when he'd started the program. Trying to ignore his throbbing side, he crawled to his feet and hobbled to the couch, standing just out of her reach as he studied her. //Dear god, no...that bastard...// his thoughts growled, as an idea settled heavily on his mind. //I can't jump to conclusions yet,// he thought. //I'll wait until I know for sure before I say anything and risk my cover.// She was waking up. He edged closer.  
  
"Hilde. Hilde, are you okay?" he whispered.  
  
She mumbled something, and then suddenly stretched and blinked. "Duo?" she said, trying to focus on him.  
  
He knelt next to the couch. "I'm here. You were having a nightmare."  
  
She stared at him for a second, and then her eyes widened. "What time is it?"  
  
"Four in the morning. Come on; kitchen." He hauled her up by the arm.  
  
"What are you doing?" she demanded, but she followed anyway.  
  
He flipped on a light in the kitchen. "The worst thing you can do after having a nightmare is go right back to sleep. Hot chocolate or warm milk?"  
  
"Hot chocolate, please." After a few minutes, they were both sitting at the counter, blowing on hot cups.  
  
"So," Duo said eventually, tugging up the back of his boxers, "are you gonna tell me what the deal was with that? I bet you remember."  
  
She started looking at her spoon studiously. "I never remember my dreams."  
  
"You were screaming. You must remember that one." He reached out and lifted her chin, looking into her troubled eyes. "And you're a terrible liar."  
  
She glared. "Why do you want to know, anyway? It's none of your business."  
  
He shrugged with his eyebrows. "I'm just trying to look out for you, you know." He looked down at his cup, and then glanced at her through his bangs. "Sometimes it helps to get these things off your chest."  
  
She gnawed her lip for a second, and then sighed. "I haven't had that dream for a while. I don't know why I'm having it now, all of a sudden. I'm an orphan," she said in a flat voice. "My parents and my brother all died in a car accident when I was twelve."  
  
"And you didn't."  
  
"No. I..." She had to stop and compose herself. "I was lucky. Concussion and whiplash. They, ah...they put me in foster care after that, and I ran away from it right after I turned fourteen. Lived on the street after that."  
  
"You don't have any other relatives?" Duo asked.  
  
"My brother Will and I are--um, were--first-generation German-Americans. If I have other family, I've never met them, 'cause we could never really afford to go back, I guess. Or my parents didn't want to. I never asked." She hadn't looked right at him once during her story, but she did then, and he saw that her eyes were shining with tears waiting to fall. "I--I haven't told anyone about that before, you know. Not even Marie, and she was like a sister."  
  
Duo nodded sympathetically. "Street kids don't talk about their pasts," he said. Suddenly, he got up and gave her a hug. Her surprise melted into relief, and she hugged him tightly as she cried tears that she'd been holding back too long.  
  
  
  
A/N: And thus we learn of Hilde. Perhaps a sidefic is in order as well...but perhaps not. Comment! I command you!  
  
/MintyPill/'s wait is over.  
  
/Link/ has some issues with Relena that need to be addressed. She also needs to remember that Relena and Heero haven't met yet. *evil smirk* PS. I'm enjoying my *week* off, mate. :P  
  
Angel of the Fallen Stars: I try to update every two weeks on Monday, meaning that, barring delays, the next chapter should be here on March 1st. Savvy?  
  
Die Spitze: Terrorist Convention was my favourite chapter to write thus far, even though it didn't turn out quite like I'd expected it to. Those damn G-boys have minds of their own...  
  
I missed /Wing/ and her enthusiasm. (assuming that Wing is a 'her') Hope you did well on your exams.  
  
/Devona Wolfe/ gave us a running commentary, and apparently isn't too fond of Wufei. Perhaps I'll change your mind before we're done here... 


	31. Kids with Guns

Disclaimer: Can anyone here tell me any new, inventive ways to say that I don't own Gundam Wing or any parts of it? And possibly also that I'm not making any money from this effort? Hmm, perhaps I could try it in the form of a question... (^.-)  
  
Deadly Beautiful - Chapter 31  
  
By danse  
  
~*~  
  
Quatre sat in the Maganac cafeteria with a cup of his favourite Turkish coffee in front of him, but his thoughts were far away. He was thinking about the upcoming mission to Georgia, and about how he was going to get his new army together. //Trowa will be a big help, I know it, but we can't take on OZ with just the two of us. But if there were *five* with our training...// He took a swallow of coffee, dimly noticing that it was starting to cool off. //How do I get everyone together? It was pure chance that we met last time, but I got their names. Not that a first name will help you find a professional terrorist hiding somewhere on the planet. Maybe chance will favour me again...//  
  
Just then, H wheeled into the cafeteria, loaded up a tray with lunch, and joined Quatre at his table. "Hello, Quatre," H said, shaking the boy out of his trance. "How are you today?"  
  
"Wha--uh, I'm fine. Just thinking, is all." Quatre shifted in his seat, peering into his coffee cup. He drained the last few mouthfuls before setting the cup aside. "You?"  
  
H set down his tray and picked up his fork to poke at a slice of beef. "I'm still here. I hear you're going off on another mission, but Abdul didn't elaborate. Where are you going, now?"  
  
"Georgia," Quatre mumbled, his chin propped up on his palm.  
  
"Ah. I've been there. It's beautiful in the summer. Is your army accompanying you?" H started eating his rice.  
  
The teenager smiled lopsidedly. He'd mentioned his encounter with the other four boys shortly after returning home. "One of them. I can't get in contact with the others. But anything helps, so I'm good."  
  
H nodded. "Well, you never know what may happen."  
  
"No," Quatre agreed. "You never do." He fiddled with the handle on his coffee cup briefly before getting up. "I have some things to attend to, if you'll excuse me." With that, he left the cafeteria to go find Rashid, needing to discuss the use of a helicopter for the Georgia mission.  
  
When his charge was gone, H put down his fork and patted at his mouth with a napkin. //It appears that a little more 'divine intervention' may be necessary to light a fire under that boy. I must be careful, though; if my esteemed colleagues get too much free intelligence dropped into their laps, they might get wise.// He picked up his fork again. //I'll lend a helping hand after lunch, I think...//  
  
***  
  
Heero was sitting in the library of J's compound, halfway through a Tom Clancy novel, when the intercom beeped overhead. He frowned up at it, suspecting what was coming. "Heero Yuy to J's office, Heero Yuy to J's office," a female voice crackled.  
  
"I knew it," he muttered, abandoning his book on the table and stretching as he stood up. It never failed; just as he was starting to enjoy himself with some activity, he was interrupted by work. He had half a mind to just abandon fun altogether, just so that it couldn't be cut short anymore. He scuffed his sneakers on the tiled hallway floors as he made his way to the office, listening to the loud squeaks they made. //I wonder if this has more to do with those OZ people,// he thought idly. //Most likely. They're the enemy of the week.//  
  
He completely ignored the secretary as he pushed through the inner door to J's personal space. He was immediately faced with the big desk, its chair turned away from him. When the door clicked shut behind him, the chair swung around, revealing a withered, old man wearing what looked like welder's goggles, the shiny pneumatic claw on one arm gripping a report as he scanned it. At length, he put the paper down and faced Heero, who was settling into a chair.  
  
"How are you today, my boy?" J asked.  
  
"Breathing, blinking, thinking. Fully functional." Heero's voice was a bored monotone, but his gaze never left the claw.  
  
J pursed his lips in distaste at the remark, but got to business. "We got another bit of intel on OZ," he said, waving his claw at the report he'd been reading. "Details about some higher-ups meeting at a compound in Georgia."  
  
Heero raised an eyebrow. "Georgia of the former Soviet Union, or Georgia of the United States?" he asked, although he knew what the answer would be. He just liked to be difficult on days like today.  
  
"The one in Asia," J snapped. "Where was I? Oh, yes. Like I said, there are supposed to be several high-ranking OZ officials meeting at a compound in Georgia on June 11th and 12th."  
  
"And I'm supposed to go and kill them," Heero supplied.  
  
"As well as obliterating the base," J finished with a smile. "Can you do it?"  
  
Heero stood up. "As long as I don't have to see their faces before I do it, yes." He left the room without another word, ready to go back to his book.  
  
"We'll start planning the mission soon!" J called after him, just before the door closed. When it clicked shut, he leaned back in his chair with a sigh. "Teenagers," he muttered softly.  
  
***  
  
Wufei wandered through a busy Beijing street, eagerly soaking up the sights, smells, and sounds of his homeland through every pore, as he always did when he went back after a long time away. //I always miss this too much,// he thought wistfully. //Maybe someday soon, I can come back for good.// He navigated deftly through several side streets, a route designed to shake any followers, and made his way to a plain door in an alley, its green paint mostly peeled away. He knocked four times, and a peephole in the door slid open, revealing a single, dark eye.  
  
"Chang Wufei," the boy said casually. He heard a grunt, and the peephole slammed shut. The door opened immediately afterwards, and he walked into a small mud room. Several pairs of outdoor shoes sat next to clean, straw sandals, and he switched his shoes for the sandals before continuing through the next door.  
  
The interior of the building was a long, wooden-floored hallway lined with red doors. Once an opium den, the place still held a faint, sickly sweet smell, trapped in the wood for years upon years. Wufei walked down the hall and up to the last door on the left, which had a dragon carved into the wood. He knocked four times again, and the door swung open to reveal a well-built bodyguard with an automatic weapon slung over his shoulder. With a quiet, 'Nihao,' and a nod, the bodyguard opened the door wider to let Wufei inside.  
  
Within, a tall, completely bald Chinese man sat cross-legged at a low table, drinking his afternoon tea. He didn't so much as acknowledge Wufei's presence until the boy had seated himself on the other side of the table in front of an empty teacup. "Good afternoon, Master O," Wufei said.  
  
"Hello, Chang," O responded quietly. He had a generally calm demeanour that clashed with his large, powerful body and easy strength. "There's a new mission for you."  
  
"And here I thought I was getting a vacation," Wufei said glibly.  
  
O ignored him. "OZ officials are meeting at a compound in the nation of Georgia," he said. He sipped his tea. "They are quite high-ranking, apparently." He gave Wufei a meaningful look.  
  
Wufei's eyes went wide. "Treize..." he breathed, his excitement building.  
  
"Perhaps. I don't have any names for you, but there is a distinct chance." O smiled.  
  
"I'll do it," the boy said immediately. "When?"  
  
"Their meeting is on June 11th and 12th, according to our intelligence. You should strike on the night in between."  
  
"Of course." Wufei got to his feet and bowed respectfully. "Thank you for this opportunity," he said.  
  
"I wouldn't give it to anyone else," O said truthfully. "Now, would you like something to eat?"  
  
***  
  
Figuring that they were going to get arrested for lurking around the palace soon, and not being able to think up a better plan, Zechs and Noin had taken to sightseeing, and had spent the last two days wandering around Vaduz, seeing everything there was to see. Today, they were sitting on a park bench three blocks from the palace, Noin in a skirt and Zechs in a baseball cap, with his hair in a ponytail tucked down the back of his shirt. It had been Noin's idea to do that, reasoning that if his unique hair attracted peoples' attention, they might look twice and realize who he was.  
  
Noin was relaxing and people-watching, and Zechs was looking at a swallow flying overhead, when his cell phone started ringing. He jumped in surprise, because it was a secured line to Treize, and he hadn't been expecting it to ring, but he answered it quickly. "Hello?" he said.  
  
Treize's voice answered. "Zechs, I need you back at headquarters for another assignment. I gave you a week for this one, and I'm afraid your time is up."  
  
Zechs frowned. "But... we haven't made any kind of progress yet. I just need a little more time."  
  
"Time is not on your side, Merquise. I'm sorry, but I need you back here."  
  
"But..." Zechs looked around wildly, trying to think of a solution. His eyes settled on Noin, who was giving him a confused, expectant look. All of a sudden, she put the conversation together from her partner's monologue, and met his eyes. She recognized the unspoken question and nodded her agreement. He smiled. "Sir," he said, "can Noin stay behind? She can continue the investigation on her own."  
  
There was a pause, and then Treize answered. "I don't see why she can't stay for a while. There's nothing we urgently need her for at home. She'll have to be picked up afterwards, though. Discreetly."  
  
"I'll look after it, Sir." Zechs sounded excited, having worked out something that benefited him. "Thank you... okay... goodbye." He turned off the phone and looked at Noin. "Thank you, Lucy," he said. "You're an angel."  
  
Noin raised her eyebrows, hoping she wasn't blushing from the unexpected compliment. "It's no problem, Zechs. Beats going home and doing more paperwork, anyways. Besides," she said, settling back on the bench, "it could be easier for me to do this alone, since they won't have a clue who I am."  
  
Zechs made a noise of agreement and then was silent. Suddenly, he spoke again. "Lucy, if she stays--and I think she might stay--I have a favour to ask of you. Would you protect her for me? You're the only one I can trust."  
  
//Those words again,// Noin thought. //You're the only one I can trust...// She felt confused by that. She really had deep feelings for Zechs, but this felt more like the responsibility of a best friend. A big responsibility. The park felt deadly quiet all of a sudden; a roaring silence in her ears. "I promise I'll do all I can," she said, her voice sounding like a hollow echo in the stillness she imagined.  
  
Before she knew what was happening, Zechs had wrapped her in a fierce hug. "Thank you," he whispered. "You don't know how much that means to me."  
  
She hesitantly placed a hand on his back, hugging back a little. Her world was turning upside-down on her, and she really didn't like the feeling.  
  
***  
  
"What do you mean, you have to go to work?" Hilde said. "It's Memorial Day."  
  
Duo pulled on his jacket and drained a cup of coffee. "I got called in this morning. Boss says jump, I ask how high," he explained. "I think I have another business trip coming up soon, and I need to get some material ready for it. Busy time of year, ya know." He winked at her. "See you later!" he called, grabbing his car keys and heading out of the door.  
  
"See ya," she muttered, draining a glass of milk. "Well, Hilde, it's just you again today. I think it's time for some house cleaning." She'd discovered the vacuum and cleaning supplies buried in the hall closet during her two weeks alone, and had taken to doing the cleaning. If Duo had noticed, he hadn't said anything yet. She put her glass in the sink and walked down the hallway to get the vacuum. "I think I'll move the couch today, and clean under there. There's probably popcorn and dust and chip bits and... ugh."  
  
***  
  
Duo pulled into the parking garage at the office and jumped out of his Mustang, whistling tunelessly as he made his way to the door. Just as he nodded a greeting to the garage security guard, he froze in his tracks, his face white. The guard frowned. "Something wrong, sir?" he called.  
  
Duo blinked, shook his head, and grinned at the guard. "Nope, nothing's wrong," he replied. "Just remembered something, is all." He kept walking for the front door, his face creased with worry. //I left my gun behind the couch the other night, when I woke Hilde up.// As he pushed the front door open, though, he dismissed his fear. //It'll be fine. What reason would she have to look behind the couch, anyway? I'm panicking over nothing...// He went inside to get his newest mission briefing from G.  
  
***  
  
Hilde sat flat on the floor, the couch pushed into the middle of the room. The vacuum whirred behind her, but she couldn't hear it over the pounding of her pulse in her ears. She held the gun in her hand, feeling its unfamiliar weight. She wasn't supposed to start weapons training for another few weeks.  
  
//I think it's loaded... Why was there a gun behind the couch? It must be Duo's... but why would he need one?// A memory came unbidden to her mind, of waking up from her nightmare to see Duo in front of her. //He hid it behind the couch before he woke me up? But why did he have it out?//  
  
And what was she supposed to do, now that she'd found it? She bit her lip, her mind racing. Finally, she came to a decision. //I'll put it back behind the couch and pretend I never saw it. The dust bunnies can thrive a little longer.// She put the gun back on the floor where she'd found it and started shoving on the couch to push it back against the wall.  
  
"I'm going to find out why he has it, though," she said out loud. The vacuum was still whirring.  
  
  
  
A/N: Hokay. So. Here's the review corner. Chillin'.  
  
/Bec/ is at least as impatient as everybody else, and probably likes to read the last page first.  
  
/MintyPill/ doesn't know I don't speak Spanish. Actually, that's not true. I can say hello, tomorrow, please, and thank you, and count to seven. :P  
  
/Dreamwinder001/ can say anything she damn well wants on my review board, because no one will laugh, not knowing the ending and all, and because I'm not changing a perfectly good ending on her account.  
  
Link: I pity the fool who can't handle my cynicism. Redundancy affects us all.  
  
/Angel of the Fallen Stars/ is apparently an innocent, and unaware of how badly I'd like to jump Johnny Depp. *looks down* You're not a eunuch, are you? (^.-) 


	32. Better get used to it, this is home now

Disclaimer: I don't have to listen to you! You don't own me! And I don't own Gundam Wing! *runs off cackling*  
  
Deadly Beautiful - Chapter 32  
  
By danse  
  
~*~  
  
Relena woke up gently, blinking away sleep as soft, morning light spilled through the gauzy curtains. She looked around and saw an unfamiliar room that was decorated all in soft white. //Where am I?// she thought, but she remembered almost immediately. She sat up in bed and scratched her neck as she looked around one of the few bedrooms in the palace that hadn't needed heavy cleaning to use. She and Mrs. Darlian had moved in a few days ago, the day after Relena had learned about the girls' school in Vaduz.  
  
Suddenly, her eyes opened wide with a realization. Today was the day she was supposed to go tour the school! She looked at the clock, saw that it was nearly 9:30, and got up quickly to make her way to the closest bathroom, which was across the hall. It felt vaguely odd to walk barefoot across the Persian-carpeted hallway of a royal palace in plaid, flannel pajama pants and a Hello Kitty t-shirt. She grinned. //Better get used to it; this is home now.// She closed the bathroom door behind her and was faced with expensive-looking marble, tile, and brass fixtures. The shower was huge, and the water ran deliciously hot when she turned it on.  
  
Once she was dressed, she made her way to the kitchen, where her mother sat with coffee while Pargan finished making breakfast. Relena sat at the table, and a fancy plate of scrambled eggs, bacon, and toast was put in front of her. "Thank you," she said, picking up her fork.  
  
"So," Mrs. Darlian said, putting down her coffee cup, "I thought we'd go take the grand tour of the school at about eleven, and then decide what to do for lunch. Sound good?"  
  
Relena nodded, because her mouth was full of food. When she could talk, she said, "If I decide I like it, how soon do I start?"  
  
Mrs. Darlian glanced at Pargan. "I don't know," she said. "Monday? You still have to finish Grade Eleven, and you've missed enough school already. The sooner the better, I think."  
  
Relena nodded again, thinking about school as she finished a piece of toast.  
  
***  
  
The Friedenskraft-Sank Schule der Mädchen was a Gothic-looking fortress of a school, built entirely of stone. It made Clearwater Academy look like a group of tool sheds. Relena stared up at it apprehensively as she got out of the car, reading the words she recognized, and was mortified when she understood them. "You never told me the place was *named* after me," she growled at the two adults.  
  
"The Friedenskraft family has always been highly supportive of education for girls as well as boys," Pargan said calmly. "Your great-grandparents and an aristocrat by the name of Karl Sank split the cost of this school for girls." He smiled at the two women and guided the car away, along the circular drive. He would be picking them up after their day was over.  
  
"Come *on*, Relena, it's not a big deal," her mother said, hooking her arm through Relena's and patting her sleeve affectionately. "Within a week, they'll all know who you are, but this school's been around a lot longer than you have. No one will blame you for it. Besides, when you were born, the whole kingdom knew about it, and they all figured you'd go to school here someday, anyway."  
  
"That doesn't make it any less embarrassing," the girl muttered. Mrs. Darlian ignored her and pulled open the grand front door, ready to start their official tour.  
  
As it turned out, the school was a very nice place. The headmistress showed them around, speaking in German while Mrs. Darlian interpreted for Relena. There was a large gym with a pool, some computer labs, a cafeteria, a spacious music room, a stage, art rooms, and a Home Economics lab, besides all the other necessary classrooms of a school for both young children and teenagers alike. "There is also," the tall, middle-aged woman said, "room for some instruction in learning the German language." Relena perked up considerably at that.  
  
As they were walking back from the gym, the lunch bell rang, and the hallways were soon filled with girls of all ages, wearing identical school uniforms consisting of a black blazer over a white shirt, a black necktie, a black, pleated skirt, and white, knee-high socks. Conversations in German chattered all around them as the students walked in different directions in groups of three and four. Several glanced curiously at Relena as they passed; a few smiled at her.  
  
Opting not to eat in the cafeteria, Relena and Mrs. Darlian said their goodbyes to the headmistress and headed for a café down the street for lunch.  
  
"Well, what do you think?" the older woman asked, as a waitress set down thick sandwiches in front of them.  
  
Relena munched a french fry as she contemplated the question. "I think I like it," she said finally.  
  
Her mother smiled.  
  
***  
  
Noin walked up the broad front steps of the palace in jeans and a t-shirt. She checked her watch; the tour was supposed to start in a few minutes. While she leaned against one of the large, cool pillars, she overheard a couple talking in French nearby.  
  
"They're supposed to be closing the tours soon. That's what the guy on the phone told me," the woman said.  
  
"Really? We got here just in time, then," her male companion answered.  
  
Noin frowned. //Closing the tours? Why would they--oh. I guess she's staying, then.// If someone was living in the house again, it was unlikely that they would run tours through the living area again. Or perhaps they were just being closed temporarily, to be restarted after she finished moving in. //There'll be a full staff again. She might need a bodyguard...// Noin's eyebrows suddenly shot into her hairline; an idea had just come to her. She'd come on the tour because she wanted to get inside somehow, and couldn't think of a better plan. Now, perhaps she had a direct way to fulfill Zechs' request for protection. //Time to make a résumé...// she sang inside her head. A smile crossed her face, and then the front door opened to reveal the grizzled butler, signalling the start of the tour.  
  
  
  
A/N: Thanks to all those lovely folks who reviewed the last chapter, and of course all the ones before that. I hate making promises, but we're looking at a two-chapter update next time, on the 29th. If you haven't gone and checked out the website yet, do that. There's pretty artwork. And room for more. Later days... 


	33. Breakout

_LW's Note_: (Sound's pretentious, don't it? ^^) For anyone who didn't know, danse's hard drive died, and she lost everything on it. Unlike me, she hadn't known the importance of having eight-million copies of everything in eight-million places, so she lost everything. Luckily, her wonderful, amazing beta (aka me) still had a copy of Chapter 33, which was all ready to go, and since her compy is still on crack, I'm posting it for her. Unluckily, Chapter 34, which she hadn't sent me yet at the time of crashing, is gone forever. All *6000* words of it. She's beating her head into walls over it. So, she's shall spend the next while attempting to recreate its genius for your reading pleasure, and she'll post it when I post it, I guess. But not before she backs it up, of course! Thanks for your patience. Now, story!  
  
Disclaimer: I don't own Gundam Wing. My computer hates me. I'm not making any money from this. Blah.  
  
  
**Deadly Beautiful** - Chapter 33  
  
By danse  
  
~*~  
  
"Is there anything else we need to take care of, Une?" Treize asked, shifting in his chair.  
  
She flipped through the pages on her clipboard, pursing her lips. "I don't--oh. There is still the matter of Field Marshal Noventa and his committee. They're waiting on an answer."  
  
Treize rolled his eyes and got up abruptly, starting to pace. He stopped at the large window behind his desk briefly, putting his hand against the pane as he looked outside, lost in thought. A moment later, he pushed away and started pacing again. "They want to see which base? Georgia, right?"  
  
Une checked her clipboard to verify his words. "Yes, sir. That's the one that they're suspicious about."  
  
Treize stopped in front of the stately grandfather clock in the corner, watching its pendulum swing as he considered the situation. "Are they busy tomorrow?" he asked finally.  
  
His assistant stared at his back in surprise. "Um..." she said, wondering what was going on inside his head.  
  
He turned to face her, a warm look in his eyes. "Invite them to go inspect the place to their hearts' content tomorrow. But we're sending Zechs tonight, to straighten things out. We want to be sure that everything is pristine when Noventa shows up with his precious committee tomorrow, right?"  
  
Catching on to the scheme, Une echoed the devious smile on Kushrenada's face. "Of course," she said softly. "I'll see to it right away." She stood up and left the room, the door clicking shut quietly behind her.  
  
Treize didn't move from his position by the clock even after she left. The smile never left his face, either. If the UN was getting wise to what was going on there, they could throw every committee in their arsenal at him, but as long as he had something to say about it, they'd never find a thing.  
  
//Stodgy, old British military men. There's nothing quite like them,// Treize mused. //I wonder if he still lives up to his rank. Not on my watch.// The clock chimed the hour, a satisfying sound. //All he's going to find when he gets to Georgia is an empty machine tools factory.//  
  
***  
  
After two weeks of obsessing over his problems and not being able to think of an answer, Trowa was nearly at the end of his rope. He had to get away from S and get to Catherine, but he didn't know how to do that; he had to get away from the base to meet Quatre for this mission, but he didn't know how to do that. He groaned loudly, flopping back on the bed in his private quarters to stare hopelessly at the ceiling. He needed to be in Athens by 12:45 tomorrow afternoon, and he had absolutely no idea how he was going to pull it off. //What can I do? Just tell my boss that I'm leaving for a few days for reasons that are none of his business, and wave good-bye cheerfully? Heíd put a bullet through the back of my head.// Trowa rubbed his eyes tiredly. He'd gotten way too deep into this situation, and there was no way out. //Not that I had a lot of choice about whether I got into it to begin with, what with my being a toddler at the time....//  
  
It all added up to getting away and staying alive in the process. //I could just leave. No see ya later, kiss my ass, nothing. If I do it suddenly, I could get enough of a head start....// He frowned. //Odds are high that an escapade like that would end with me in a coffin. But... what else can I do?// He sat upright, glaring at a wrinkle in the bedcovers as he thought. //Fuck. There's no other way out that I can see, and I honestly think I'm past the point of caring about my own life. I'll get away or die trying, and that's it.// He swung his legs over the side of the bed, hauled himself to his feet, and was out the door without a pause. //I need to find the man with the red shirt, so I can get a message to Catherine...//  
  
After ten minutes of wandering through the compound, Trowa found his quarry coming out of an office in the east wing. He made eye contact and nodded at the hallway to his right, signaling to the man to follow. They went into a bathroom, and after checking that all of the stalls were empty, both went to the urinals as Trowa started talking. "Tell her that I'm getting out, and that the shit is probably going to fly. She'd better be lying as low as possible, because I think they'll go after her if they know where she is."  
  
The man shot him an incredulous look. "You're just going to up and leave? You're crazier than she is, boy!"   
  
Trowa made an, 'oh well,' face.   
  
"How soon will you meet her?" the intermediary asked.  
  
Trowa hesitated. "I'm going to stay with a friend for a little while, where they can't find me, and when the dust settles a bit, I'll contact her. You have a contact number for her, don't you?" They both finished up and walked to the sinks.  
  
The man nodded. "Where can I leave it?" he asked.  
  
"I have a pen. I'll write it down now and use it when I have the chance." Trowa removed a scrap of paper and a pen from his pocket and gave them both to the man, who scribbled down a phone number.  
  
"There you go," he said, handing Trowa the paper. "God bless you both."  
  
The boy nodded. "You make sure you look after yourself, too. I'd hate to see you go down on our account."  
  
"Don't worry about me." The man said as he left the bathroom.  
  
Trowa leaned against the counter, staring up at the fluorescent lights in the ceiling. //Here's hoping everything goes according to plan,// he thought anxiously, as he slipped the paper in his pocket.  
  
***  
  
The morning of June 10th dawned with the promise of a scorching afternoon. S had just started the day's work when his intercom beeped. The new secretary's voice came through clearly. "Sir, Main Door Security is telling me that there's an attempted breach going on out front."  
  
"Out or in?" S asked.  
  
A pause. "Out, sir. They tell me it's Barton, actually."  
  
S glanced at the calendar, double-checking the date. "His day off isn't till Friday," he said.  
  
"Well, he's trying to leave now, sir. They want your help out front."  
  
S was grimly silent as he hurried from his office to the front door. There was a gun in his hand, and the safety made a loud click when he turned it off in the empty hallway as he ran. He got to the front door just as a gunshot rang through the morning air, and he heard the squeal of tires as he wrenched it open. All he saw was a guard crumpling to the ground with a bullet in his leg as Barton sped away, reaching his arm out of the window to give the whole compound the finger as his car retreated into the distance.   
  
S squinted through one eye, aiming his gun, and gave Barton's car a hole in the rear bumper as a parting gift before stalking back inside. He didn't know whether to be angry or happy, frankly.  
  
***  
  
Quatre stood on the only helipad in Athens, leaning against the shiny black hull of the helicopter as he shaded his eyes from the glare of the afternoon sun. Even for a desert dweller like him, it was hot. //Probably the humidity. We're so close to the ocean...// He checked his watch. The black LCD numbers read '12:55'.  
  
"He's not here yet," Abdul said. "Do you think he'll show up?"  
  
Quatre didn't appreciate his own fears being voiced like that. "He's still got ten minutes. He'll be here," he insisted.  
  
Sure enough, less than a minute after the words left Quatre's mouth, a shiny black car appeared on the near horizon. Quatre smiled broadly, his anxiety dissipating like moisture in the day's heat. "That'll be our boy," he chuckled, turning to open the door of the helicopter. "And you doubted him!" he chided Abdul, though there was a grin on his face. Abdul smirked and raised an eyebrow before walking around the chopper and hopping into the pilot's seat.  
  
As the car pulled into a parking spot near the helipad, Quatre jogged the short distance so that he could say hello. His attention was drawn to the back of the car as Trowa got out, and he whistled. "Nice bodywork," he commented, pointing at the bullet hole in the bumper. Trowa came around and looked at it, and then raised his eyebrow.  
  
"That's how S says goodbye," he muttered. Quatre barely caught the words.  
  
//S? A leader with a one-letter name? What a coincidence,// he mused silently. "So," he said, unable to put away his amused grin, "it looks like your trip was interesting, then. Did you bring anything?"  
  
In response, Trowa hauled a backpack out of the backseat and slammed his car door. He'd left the keys in the ignition and the door unlocked. "Think anyone in Athens likes taking free cars?" Trowa asked.  
  
"Why would you leave it here?"  
  
Trowa sighed. "I was going to ask you: after this mission is over, can I stay with you for a bit? Because I kind of can't go back to where I came from, now."  
  
Quatre stared at Trowa like he was insane. "Sounds like you'll need a home for more than 'a bit', then."  
  
"Actually, I have a place to go. Eventually. But I have to wait until the time is right. At any rate," he gestured at the car, "I won't be coming back for this. It isn't mine, anyways, but its owner doesn't seem to care that much about its welfare." He ran his finger over the bullet hole, making a face.  
  
Quatre considered all of this for a second, and then nodded. "My home is your home for as long as you need it. Now, come, sir; your helicopter is waiting." He bowed with a sweeping gesture, indicating that Trowa should go and get into the machine.  
  
Once they were in, with Trowa's meagre gear stored, and wearing their communication headsets, the doors slammed shut, trapping some of the stifling heat inside. The blades overhead started to turn under Abdul's control, and before long they were in the air, making their way straight to the nation of Georgia. When they got there, they would organize their gear and get ready for the assault on the OZ base. As they traveled, Quatre outlined the details of his plan for invading the base. Trowa just settled back in the seat, listening to his friend talk as he enjoyed the most comfortable moment he'd experienced in weeks, somewhere high above the Mediterranean Sea.  
  
***  
  
Hilde came home from 'work' nursing a sore ankle, which she had incurred that day during a sparring match with a man almost twice her size. //Damn good thing I won,// she thought with a satisfied smile as she limped into the living room to collapse on the couch. She sighed, relishing the rare chance to show how tired she was. Duo had told her that morning that he wasn't coming home after work, because he was leaving on that business trip this afternoon. He'd be home the day after tomorrow.  
  
Suddenly remembering something, she hauled herself back to her feet and yanked one arm of the couch forward, exposing the wall. Her eyebrows shot up in surprise--the gun wasn't there, for the first time in two weeks of daily checking. Just to be sure, she got to her knees and peered underneath the couch. She was right; a lot of dust, but no gun.  
  
//How interesting,// she thought, flopping onto the floor. She leaned against the side of the couch, staring at the wall. //He went to the bathroom this morning, while I was still in the kitchen. I bet it was then. And then he went on that business trip...// The colour drained from Hilde's face as the puzzle pieces fitted together suddenly.  
  
"God damn, I'm an idiot."  
  



	34. Teamwork

A/N: I'm ba-a-a-ack.

Disclaimer: I don't own Gundam Wing, and I am making no money from this creative venture. If I was, I would have long since been fired...

Deadly Beautiful - Chapter 34

_by danse_

_- - -_

Marshal Noventa sat at his desk, staring at a picture of his wife and granddaughter, as he contemplated the next sentence of an e-mail. His office was spacious, with a large window behind the desk and double doors on the opposite wall. To the right of his desk, a wall-mounted display case held his old dress uniform jacket from his days as a peacekeeper, with three lines of ribbons over the breast pocket and two medals pinned around the collar, souvenirs of places where he'd served and awards he'd won in years past. Across the room from that, a blue UN flag was pinned to the wall, its world map symbol surrounded by over twenty small reproductions of flags that represented all of the countries he'd been to as a peacekeeper.

Someone knocked on his door, shaking him out of his daze. "Come in," he said loudly. The door opened to reveal an intern.

"Good afternoon, Mr. Noventa, sir," the young man said. "I've got a message for you from the Romefeller Corporation."

Noventa perked up. "Yes? What did they say?"

The intern cleared his throat. "A team has been permitted to go inspect the site in question tomorrow morning."

"Really." Noventa stood up and walked around his desk, strolling over to examine his flag as he scowled. "Tomorrow morning." He chuckled. "They must think I'm an idiot." He turned back to the confused intern. "Thank you. Please go and inform the rest of the committee that we'll be leaving promptly at 1900 hours this evening by helicopter. We should be in Georgia by 2200 hours."

The intern stared at him. "But..."

Noventa glared. "Just do as you're told, please. I should think that I know what I'm doing," he added sarcastically.

"Yes, sir. Sorry." The young man left the office quickly.

Noventa returned to his chair and started typing again. _So Romefeller thinks they can play tricks on me, do they? They'll be in for a lovely surprise this evening when we show up unannounced, I think..._

_- - -_

Zechs arrived at the Georgia Leo base just in time for a late supper. He sat in the mostly-empty mess hall, eating beef stew while the two commanding officers of the base, Derevko and Septem, filled in the blanks in his knowledge about the problem there.

Apparently, one night there had been a small party in one of the dorm rooms, celebrating a junior officer's birthday, and afterward three inebriated privates had taken a jeep from the base and gone to the closest town to continue their bender. After being kicked out of the only bar in town for disturbing a young woman working there, the three soldiers had been chased out of the city limits by a mob of angry citizens who were led by the girl's father, who owned both the bar and a shotgun.

Naturally, the townspeople had started wondering where these three young men had come from with an unfamiliar military jeep, and had started asking questions to everyone who would listen, until word eventually got to the UN of the situation. That was where Zechs came in. He sighed heavily and pushed away his empty bowl. "Well, gentlemen, we have until dawn, and there's no time to waste. Let's get started," he said. They got up and left the mess hall to round up some officers and begin what Treize had dubbed Operation Daybreak.

- - -

The sun was beginning to dip below the horizon as Trowa and Quatre trudged through a fallow field, dressed in black sweaters and khaki pants, and carrying backpacks full of equipment. Since they obviously couldn't just land their helicopter at the front door of the OZ base and waltz right in, they'd touched down on a hilltop several miles away, and now had to hoof it to their destination. Quatre led the expedition with a GPS in his hand, checking it every few minutes to make sure they were still on course. Their conversation was sparse and generally pointless for a while, until Quatre asked a question that had been bothering him.

"So, where are you going after this?" he ventured.

"Back with you, I suppose," Trowa answered, realizing that they'd already discussed that and wondering how Quatre could have such a short memory.

"No, I mean after that," Quatre clarified as he stopped briefly to look around and then directed them toward a windbreak of trees to their left. "You said you had a place to go."

"Oh, _that_," Trowa said with an air of sudden understanding. "_That_ would be none of your business."

Quatre looked nonplussed, but his companion didn't notice. "You still don't trust me?" he asked, clipping the GPS to his belt.

"I don't trust anyone. It's nothing personal."

"That's not true," he argued. "You trust _her_, or you wouldn't be going to live with her." His words didn't even sink into his own head for a moment, until he realized that Trowa had frozen in mid-stride, staring at him. Quatre went a bit pale as he came to a stop and turned to face the other boy. He could see Trowa's hand poised in the air, ready to draw the Beretta handgun at his side. Quatre could feel the animalistic fear and wariness that exuded from Trowa in waves and could see fierce emerald eyes sizing him up.

"I never said anything about a 'her'," Trowa said very quietly. His voice had a razor edge.

Quatre swallowed, raising his hands slightly into the air, palms outward, as he met Trowa's gaze. _Oh shit, good job, Quatre, _he thought. _What am I supposed to tell him? 'Oh, I know you never said anything. It's just that I can randomly pick up people's thought waves and emotions, and I caught a drift of thought about her from you without really noticing. Just like I'm nearly choking on your fear now...'_ Yes, that would go over quite well, he was sure. Trowa was already a flinch from putting three bullets in Quatre's face.

He cleared his throat unsuccessfully, and licked his dry lips with a tongue that had gone equally dry with nervousness. "I..." He laughed nervously, trying to defuse the situation. "I just assumed. Hell, Trowa, it's always about a girl. You're a good-looking guy; why wouldn't you have a girlfriend?" _Stop babbling. Stop babbling _now he thought.

Trowa looked at Quatre's face, blinked, and visibly relaxed. His hand moved millimetres away from his gun, but it was enough to tell Quatre that he was not going to die. He stood stock-still until Trowa shook his head and started walking again, and then he exhaled the breath he hadn't realized he'd been holding and followed.

As he caught up, he heard Trowa mutter something, but he couldn't understand what it was. "What was that?" he asked warily.

Trowa looked up from his boots and said, "I said, 'you tell _me _why I don't have a girlfriend'. She's not my girlfriend; she's my sister. I've never had a girlfriend." He looked back down at his feet.

Quatre was a little incredulous. "Never?"

Trowa shook his head.

Quatre checked the GPS again, looking at the satellite-produced local time on the screen, and said, "Let's stop for a food break when we get to that next stand of trees. We've got a few hours left; we're making good time."

They walked on quietly as the sky slowly stained with dark blue and purple and the dirt and leaves beneath their feet got harder to see.

- - -

Duo hid behind a parked Humvee as he peered around it at the side door of the Georgia OZ base. The armed guard was blinking a lot, shifting around, and starting to nod a little. Duo smiled evilly. After another minute or two, he made his move. He crept around the side of the vehicle and walked up very quietly as the guard's eyes slid closed and his chin sank toward his chest. Standing barely a foot away, he tapped the dozing man on the shoulder. The guard snapped awake instantly but a quick right hook to the jaw knocked him out again, before he had a chance to fight back. Duo caught him as he slumped toward the ground and dragged the lifeless-looking body back behind the Hummer.

After quickly putting on the guard's OZ uniform, tucking his braid down the back of the jacket, jamming the cap on his head, and slinging the unused Uzi over his shoulder, Duo looked around warily and walked back toward the now-unmanned door as naturally as possible, leaving the unconscious man on the ground. Just as he reached out to put his hand on the knob, the door opened and nearly hit him in the face. He stepped back just in time to avoid the blow and saw a pretty woman in her mid-twenties standing there, staring at him.

"Umm, hi," he said after a brief but awkward silence.

She nodded curtly. "I'm your relief. Where did you think you were going before I got here?" she growled.

Glad she didn't know he wasn't the actual guard, Duo gave her a winning smile. "I was just going to peek in the door to see if you were coming," he purred. "I really have to go to the bathroom."

She gave him a largely unimpressed look and stepped outside to her post. He slipped through the door. "Later, beautiful. Don't lose that lovely attitude!" As soon as the door shut behind him, he shifted the gun strap on his shoulder, looked left and right, and picked the left path, walking briskly.

- - -

Wufei stood in an empty corridor of the Georgia base, contemplating an emergency escape map on the wall in an effort to get his bearings. He was tracing the likeliest path from his current location, which was marked with a red blob of paint in the diagram of the corridor, to the generator room, when he suddenly heard the faint sound of someone whistling and the fainter sound of steady footsteps from somewhere behind him. He whipped around nervously and saw that this hallway ended and turned the corner a hundred metres away. The whistling was getting louder.  
  
He looked around wildly as his heart started to thud loudly against his ribcage, as if it was trying to beat its way out of his body to escape the horror that would soon befall him. He had no weapons except for a short knife, and those footsteps more than likely belonged to a soldier with a submachine gun. There was also nowhere to hide in the long, empty corridor, not even a recessed doorway.

As a last resort, he glanced up. A corrugated metal beam and a pipe of about six inches in diameter, spaced several feet apart, greeted his eyes. It would do. He stood under the beam and leaped into the air, catching his fingertips on the bottom lip and hauling himself up as quietly as possible, hooking his feet quickly over the pipe as his hands gripped the beam and wincing at the soft clunking noises his boots made. The whistling never faltered as the soldier came around the corner, a green cap slung low over his eyes.

Fortune was smiling on Wufei, it seemed. _Don't look up, don't look up,_ he chanted silently as the man passed underneath him. He could see down the barrel of the submachine gun that was slung over the guard's shoulder.

He was almost in the clear when a burning sensation came to his attention. His ankles felt like they were on fire. _Hot water pipe!_ he thought in anguish as the burning feeling increased. It was unbearable. He shifted slightly, and bit his lip as the cuff of plastic on the tip of his shoelace hit the pipe, making a small but clear _ting_. The whistling stopped as the guard hesitated. Wufei probably would have gotten away with the tiny noise, but the thin, corrugated metal beam to which his hands clung, the sharp edge digging into the skin of his hands, chose that moment to give a tiny screech in protest to the extra weight it was forced to bear. He actually felt it bend a little bit.

The guard whipped around, holding his gun at the ready. He was about two feet in front of Wufei's hands and hadn't noticed him yet. Using the element of surprise to its fullest, Wufei kicked his feet down from the pipe and used his hands to swing forward, launching both feet squarely into his enemy's chest. The man was too surprised to make a sound louder than that of his lungs emptying as he hit the floor, hard. Wufei dropped lightly to the ground after him, landing on his feet.

The guard, despite the surprise attack, had clung to his gun, and now held it up in front of him as he gasped for breath, apparently seeing stars after smacking his head on the floor. A neat roundhouse kick knocked the gun away, and it skittered across the floor. Wufei cracked his knuckles and turned his attentions to the gun, which was lying a few feet to the side and behind the soldier's head. _A weapon couldn't hurt, actually,_ he thought, moving towards it.

He felt pain in the backs of his knees and the next thing he knew, he was on the floor, the air whooshing out of his own lungs. He lay there blinking and gasping for a moment as the other man staggered to his feet, rubbing his chest where foot-shaped bruises would likely appear later. Not a person to tolerate being one-upped, the Chinese teen windmilled to his feet and assumed a Tiger Crane stance, aiming a jab at the other man's face.

Wufei's attack was dodged, barely, and he had to block a fast kick to his abdomen. He danced aside, chuckling, and then rushed at his opponent, throwing kicks, chops and jabs as fast as he could, landing one good shot on the side of the other man's neck. As the man's head spun to the side, a long rope of brown hair tumbled out of the back of his blue uniform jacket.

Wufei was floored. _Look at that hair... is this a _woman _I'm fighting?_ Something else niggled at the back of his mind, but he snarled. No soft female was going to defeat him. He thought briefly of that woman from the other OZ base, the one with short hair like a man's. And of another, further back in time. Both had been made of tougher stuff than most, but there could only be so many exceptions to the rule. He jumped to land an axe kick against the soldier's ribcage, but two strong arms crossed in front of his target, absorbing the blow with a low grunt and grabbing his foot unexpectedly to twist it around. Wufei saved his face from hitting the floor by landing on his hands, but his foot was still pinioned. And being bent back towards his head. He growled with the pain as his opponent sat on his other leg, pushing his foot as far forward as it would go, and a little more. But his other knee wasn't covered; he could still move his other leg. He kicked up with his free foot and felt his heel connect with something hard. The pressure released immediately, but the whole fight soon turned into a wrestling match.

As the two people grappled around on the floor, alternately punching or kneeing each other and reaching for the gun that was too far away, the soldier's hat got knocked off, flying through the air to land near the gun, and Wufei suddenly got a good look at his opponent's face. It was familiar. And male. Wufei put his hand down on the chest, disguising his grope as an assault with the heel of his hand. He met a flat, muscular chest, nothing more. _Definitely male... long hair..._ "Duo Maxwell!" he said out loud, putting the face to a name.

"Fucking right," Maxwell grunted, pushing hard and throwing the suddenly vulnerable Wufei off of him. "Jesus, you're heavier than you look..." He groped around for his hat, plunked it back on his head, and finally got the chance to give his attacker a good look. Recognition dawned hazily on his face. "You're... something Chinese... Wong? No, Chang!" he said triumphantly. He pointed. "You're Wufei Chang!" He paused for a moment, running his tongue over his teeth, maybe checking to make sure they were all still there. "Why the _fuck_ did you just try to take a round out of me, Chang?"

Wufei's hackles went up at the hostility. He snorted. "_Try?_ I'd say I was doing a lot better than that. I would've succeeded if I hadn't realized who you were in time!"

Duo smirked. "Don't get all high-and-mighty. Just because you were on top doesn't mean that you were in control. And don't think I didn't feel that grope." He winked.

Wufei turned scarlet. "I didn't grope you. Stop attempting to flatter yourself, you sick bastard. I saw the hair and thought you were a girl. I was just making sure you weren't just a really _ugly _girl," he snapped. Somehow the remark struck a nerve, as he'd hoped it might.

"Alright," Duo snarled, getting to his feet and tucking his braid back into his jacket as he straightened his clothes. "We're on the same side, aren't we? No point in fighting." He extended a hand gallantly, which Wufei ignored as he stumbled to his feet. Duo shrugged and grabbed his gun instead. Shouldering it, he said, "We need to make it through this base without getting caught. I see one of us in a guard's uniform and one of us in stylish black stealth clothes that scream, 'up to no good'. Can you see where I'm going with this?"

Wufei nodded curtly. "We go our separate ways, just like we were, and meet in the middle if it comes to that."

"Not exactly what I had in mind," said Duo, pulling a white plastic cable tie out of one of his pockets. "I have, like, five of these in my pocket. Must be standard operating procedure around here. Turn around and put your hands behind your back," he commanded.

Wufei stuck out his jaw obstinately, but then he saw the gun and thought better of it. With a grudging sigh, he turned around and put his hands behind his back.

Duo grinned evilly. "Don't worry, I'll be gentle," he whispered in Wufei's ear as he tied his hands with the cable tie. "Now come along," he barked commandingly. "Cause any trouble and I'll blow your nuts off at fifty paces."

_Shit, here we go, _Wufei thought morosely as he allowed himself to be pushed along the corridors, being sworn at occasionally. _What have I gotten myself into?_

_- - -_

Heero sat in the twilight in a tree at the edge of a farmer's windbreak, watching the Georgia base through high-powered digital binoculars at an absurd magnification. He was far enough away that the base was only a largish, white smudge on the horizon, but he could see the faces of people through his binoculars. He hadn't wanted to be this far away, but this windbreak was the closest natural cover to the base. These people were thoroughly paranoid, and well-prepared.

Right now they were busy, too. He watched as a flatbed truck pulled up to the loading bay of the base and soldiers marched out of the door carrying boxes and bits of furniture to stack onto the empty bed. Another truck pulled in behind it, waiting its turn. He saw two men standing just outside the doors, supervising the scene and occasionally issuing directions to the soldiers who were loading the truck. One of the men had extremely long, platinum blond hair gathered into a ponytail at his neck.

"What the fuck..." Heero murmured, pulling the binoculars away from his eyes as he continued staring at the base, although, of course, he couldn't see anything now; just the faint outlines that might have been the flatbed trucks outside the building. His mind raced, thinking of the implications of this. Growling quietly, he climbed down from the tree and broke into a run, heading for the base as the twilight faded into deeper night, providing cover for his advance.

About fifteen minutes later, he was creeping from shadow to shadow as he kept an eye on the woman on guard duty. She stood steadfastly at the door, looking around into the darkness occasionally and never showing signs of fatigue. _Must be a fresh guard,_ he thought. _I get all the breaks._ He slipped behind a line of army vehicles and was surprised to find a man lying prone behind one of them, wearing only his underwear. Heero frowned, not really wanting to know why he was back here. It gave him an idea, though.

He peered around the other side of the line of vehicles and saw a ladder to the roof attached to the side of the building. The path to it was well-lit, and he would be spotted for certain if he attempted to get to it now. He crept back behind the vehicles and looked at the man, checking his breathing and pulse. _Unconscious,_ he thought. _Still quite warm; might wake soon._ Taking a deep breath, he grabbed the man's ankles and dragged him in a crouch a few feet across the ground, closer to the end of the line, where the guard stood. He thought he was making too much noise, but she didn't appear behind him, so he exhaled softly in relief. Repositioning himself, he slapped the man across the face, hard, and then repeated the action. The man woke up, blinked, saw Heero's face upside down in his vision, and started yelling.

Hearing the ruckus, the guard jogged over to the line of Hummers, looking for the source of the noise, and pointed her gun at the lone soldier in his underwear, who was blubbering like an idiot. Heero had already sneaked around the other end of the line and made his way quickly to the ladder, climbing up it swiftly and smoothly to disappear over the lip of the roof.

After checking around the roof with his excellent night-vision to see that no one else was up there, Heero rose slowly to his feet and walked to the trapdoor toward his left. It was near another corner of the roof, directly opposite the side where the trucks were being loaded. He glanced up at the horizon before opening the door and caught sight of something approaching the base. Pulling out his binoculars again, he looked through them and saw a large, white van, completely unmarked as far as he could tell. Unconcerned, he opened the trapdoor and dropped through the hole into the generator room.

- - -

The unmarked, white van pulled up to the front entrance of the OZ base, the driver parking and cutting the engine as the sentry on duty jogged over to the vehicle to see what was going on. When the side door slid open to reveal eight men and women in khaki vests and blue baseball caps, the sentry backed up warily, suddenly not sure what to do with his gun, which he'd been holding at the ready.

Noventa got out with the group, adjusting his UN-issue cap on his head. "At ease, soldier," he said sarcastically to the guard. "We're here on official business. Take us to your leader." A woman in her late twenties beside Noventa made a note on her clipboard, and another member of the group muttered something into a tape recorder. Noventa turned to his group, ignoring the confused guard for a moment. "Ladies and gentlemen, we have arrived. Now the nice, young man with the submachine gun will take us on a tour of this... what is it again? Oh yes; this _machine tools _factory. Take careful notes." He grinned in an altogether malicious way as the guard held the door of the base open for them. After all, it was hard to say 'no' to the United Nations.

- - -

Duo pushed Wufei irritably through the halls of the base, taking a somewhat roundabout route to the generator room. They were never challenged, although once they did pass right by two men in uniform who were engaged in an animated conversation. One of them stood out particularly, being extremely tall and handsome, with hair that was easily as long as Duo's and of such a light blond that it almost looked white. The man gave them a passing glance, but quickly lost interest and returned his attention to his companion, a shorter man with dark hair and a moustache. Both boys heaved a silent sigh of relief and moved on, Wufei giving a bit of a struggle for show.

Other than that encounter, the hallways they moved through were deathly quiet, with not a soul lurking anywhere they turned. "Wonder where everyone is," Duo murmured. "Must be drill time or something, I guess."

"At night?" Wufei asked skeptically. "I know they keep all kinds of hours, but this seems like an unlikely time for a total drill."

"Well, I don't know!" Duo cried in exasperation, giving Wufei a shove that nearly put him on his face, tied up as he was. "It was just an idea!"

"All right, don't get your panties in a twist. I think we're nearly there."

A few steps later, they reached a corner, and Duo's keen hearing caught the distinct sound of a safety turning off. "Duck," was all he had time to say, yanking Wufei to the floor as a hail of bullets flew past where his midriff had just been. They came at an angle through the corner, passing from the opposite wall through just where the two boys would have been if they'd kept going. A few took bits of concrete block off of the corner, sprinkling them with dust and rock chips.

"Jesus Christ!" Wufei wailed, unable to do anything but lay on his stomach helplessly while Duo armed himself with the submachine gun.

Expelling a deep breath, Duo braced his booted foot against the floor and pushed himself past the corner and into the open hallway, his finger on the trigger as he skidded along on his side. A split second before he was about to open fire on his attackers' ankles, he looked at their faces and froze in disbelief. "Holy fuck," was all he could say. Before him stood two people clothed in black, pointing guns at his head. They were undeniably Trowa and Quatre, who had dropped through a vent into the generator room of the last OZ base he'd infiltrated.

Quatre recognized him immediately, and shoved Trowa's weapon away from its mark. "Duo Maxwell!" he said happily, throwing away the AK-47 he'd commandeered from a guard and rushing over to help the boy to his feet. Trowa raised an eyebrow, putting the face and name together and holstering his Beretta as he joined the group.

Wufei struggled to his feet on his own and greeted Quatre as he gave Duo a kick. "Untie me," he commanded, turning around and wiggling his secured hands for emphasis.

Duo snapped open a pocketknife that he'd pulled from his boot. "You see, Quatre's a nice guy. He knows the proper order of things. You're supposed to recognize people _before_ you inflict bodily harm on them." He released Wufei and quickly dodged a punch to the nose, laughing.

"So," Quatre said, "what are you two doing here?"

"The same thing you are, I would assume," Duo said. "We're destroying an OZ base."

"But... how did you find out about it?" Quatre asked. "Why did you pick tonight to come?"

Duo frowned. "I can't speak for Wuffie here, but my boss got a communiqué that several high-ranking OZ officials would be here tonight, and I'm all about the two birds with one stone."

Wufei nodded. "I received the same information. It must have been quite the leak." He looked at Quatre. "That isn't why you're here, too?"

Quatre shook his head warily. "I planned this mission independently, and Trowa and I picked tonight to come out of sheer convenience. I have some information on locations of OZ facilities, and I picked this one from a list. I knew nothing about officials being here."

"Well," Duo said brightly, "maybe it's just a big coincidence. It was an auspicious date," he said in a wispy, fortune-teller's voice. "So. Let's quit yapping and do this."

Trowa shrugged and led the way down the hall to the generator room, followed by Duo and Wufei. Quatre brought up the rear, silent and pensive. _He could be right; it could be a massive coincidence... but what if it isn't?_ he thought with worry. _Something big is going on here. Something just over our heads. I have to figure it out. And who could my leak have been?_ He had a vague idea already.

When they got to the generator room, Duo jimmied the door open and they were immediately met with the unsmiling face of Heero Yuy, who was pointing a gun at them. When he saw who the intruders were, he merely tightened his grip on the weapon instead of lowering it.

"Put the gun down, buddy," Duo said, holding his hands in the air, as he was the one in the front of the group.

"I'm not your buddy, you son of a bitch. Why do you keep popping out of the woodwork?"

"Actually, as there's no woodwork to be found; I keep popping through the front door." He nodded behind him slightly, never taking his eyes from the gun.

Quatre's voice came from the back of the group, and he crept forward. "Heero," he said. "What are you doing here?"

"That's an idiotic question," Heero growled.

"Did it have something to do with OZ officials being here tonight?" Quatre asked.

"Maybe. Why?"

"Just curious," Quatre said, satisfied with the answer. "So... I bet you know we're not going to do anything to you or to sabotage your mission, since it's the same as ours, so why don't you quit pointing the gun at Duo?"

Heero glared at Duo and Quatre in turn and then reluctantly lowered his weapon. Duo took this as an invitation of safety, and immediately relaxed, dropping his hands back to his sides. "Got it wired yet?" he asked, walking over to Heero's half-finished bomb, which was ready to be stuck to the side of the enormous generator in the middle of the room.

"Get away from that, idiot," Heero said sharply, advancing on Duo, who was examining the explosive with a frown.

"You haven't got nearly enough stuff here, you know that? Do the job right. Here, I'll help." He rolled up his pant legs to reveal small packages of C-4 and wire strapped to his thighs, and began adding his explosive to the mass, doubling its size. "I'll fix your shoddy wiring job, too, while I'm at it. You know, you can do this with half the wires you have. See this unnecessary redundancy? No one's going to find it before it goes, and it's such a basic technique that anyone with experience and training would catch it anyway, so what's the point? Waste of wire." He snipped and rearranged the rigging quickly, and within five minutes was finished.

Heero raised his eyebrow at the mass and said, "You say I didn't have enough stuff, but you didn't have any more than I did."

"Yes, well..." Duo puffed up. "I use a special, secret technique when wiring my explosives that requires only half of the firepower."

"You mean you slash the gas lines," Wufei said flatly. "Hence your pocketknife. Oldest trick in the book."

Duo blushed.

"Well, let's get going before someone finds this powwow," Trowa said. That snapped everyone back to attention, and they all went about climbing up onto the roof to leave as Duo set the timer for five minutes.

As a group, they jogged to the edge of the roof, and then slid one by one down the ladder that Heero had scaled to get in the building, stopping briefly at the bottom to wait for the last of them to descend. Duo looked around with interest as Wufei's feet touched the dark ground. "Hey," he said suddenly. "Do you hear that? Oh hey, look, it's a van starting. It's leaving the base." He pointed, and Heero saw the unmarked, white van from earlier following the bumpy, dirt road away from the compound.

He frowned and peered around the corner of the building, his gaze landing on one of the flatbed trucks full of equipment, parked in front of a loading bay. There was no one near the vehicle, so Heero crept closer, climbing silently up onto the flatbed and searching quickly through the dark jumble of equipment until he hit paydirt. Hefting a shoulder-mounted rocket launcher and scooping up a missile from a crate beside it, he eased himself down from the truck and returned to his group, which was sidling away as slowly as it could, trying to wait for him but also thinking of the bomb timer.

Stooping and placing the launcher butt-first on the ground, he efficiently loaded it and heaved it back over his shoulder as the other boys watched in interest. "Shall we?" he grunted finally, taking a few steps forward as he built up momentum with the heavy, but manageable weight on his back. The group started running in earnest, trotting about three-quarters of a kilometre away from the doomed building before Heero stopped, trailing slightly. The white van was about three times as far away as they were, clearly visible across the plain dotted with a few scraggly trees. Heero dropped to one knee and smoothly swung the launcher forward on his shoulder, peering through the built-in scope and aiming the massive weapon at the van. Leading his target a bit, he fired, the recoil nearly knocking him over. A stream of smoke tailed behind the missile as it whistled toward the van, connecting with an enormous boom that reached them a fraction of a second after they saw it explode.

Just as Heero got to his feet again, the base exploded, shaking the ground and coming even closer to knocking him over. He staggered upright and shaded his eyes as he watched the base being consumed by flames. The boys all stood in a loose group and stared at the carnage, exhausted by the events of the night and mesmerized by the fire in spite of themselves. They were so absorbed by it that the voice that suddenly came from their collective right startled every one of them, and everyone but Heero jumped guiltily.

"Five of you? All teenagers, too? You've done quite a lot of damage, boys," the man with the long, blond hair said, his arms crossed. He looked them all over, his gaze lingering on Duo, who was still in the stolen OZ uniform. A faint smile crossed his face. "I must say, it was a marvelous job. I must commend you, because you have no idea how enormously you've helped me tonight."

They all glared. "What the hell are you talking about? Who are you, anyway?" Heero demanded.

The man smirked. "Excuse me for not introducing myself. I am Lieutenant Zechs Merquise of OZ." He bowed slightly, never taking his eyes from Heero. A smirk played with his lips.

"OZ?" Duo burst out. "How did we do an Ozzie a favour by blowing up your base?"

"Quite simply," Zechs said, "my job here was to make it look like there wasn't a base here. And now there is no base here. Granted, the mess you've left will have to be covered up, but you've still greatly simplified the task I was sent to do. And that," he gestured toward the remains of the escaping van, "was my biggest current problem. That van was full of people who knew exactly what was going on here and didn't like it. They were on their way to report the 'illegal and aggressive' activities of our organization to the United Nations."

The boys all whipped around to look at the van, except for Heero, who kept his eyes on Zechs, giving him his most violent glare. He was struggling to keep his concentration on glaring as the weight of Zechs' words sank in. Behind him, Quatre let out a strangled gasp. "You... mean... that van...."

Heero interrupted Quatre softly, his voice quavering ever so slightly. "That van... contained our best hope of bringing down OZ." _And I killed them. All of them. And all of the evidence._ He clenched his hands into fists.

Zechs smiled. Wufei yelled something unintelligible and pulled Trowa's gun from its holster, pointing it in a shaking hand at Zechs as the arrogant officer smirked, looking like a cat with a mouse. Just as Wufei steeled himself to fill the arrogant man with bullets, a Jeep roared up from the direction of the base, slowing down just enough for Zechs to hop in before it sped away. "Thanks again, boys!" he called, his mocking voice carrying back to them.

Wufei fired off three shots in rapid succession at the retreating vehicle, swearing in Chinese as the rest of the boys just stood there with identical empty stares on their faces. Trowa absently put his hand on Wufei's arm, silently warning him to relax, and Wufei obeyed, slowly lowering the gun.

After a few minutes of awkward silence, during which they all felt somewhat sickened by the smell of smoke and burning, Quatre cleared his throat awkwardly. "It... we...." He sighed and started again. "It wasn't your fault, Heero. Any one of us would have done the same, I'm sure." Continued silence was the other boys' agreement. Heero stood alone, head down and fists clenched at his sides, and suddenly sank to his knees, flopping down as if he was a marionette with his strings cut.

Quatre took a tentative step toward Heero, but decided against moving any closer. Instead he looked around at the others. "Okay, so it's not the end of the world, right? It's a hitch in our plans, but all that means is we have to fight a little harder to bring down OZ." As he spoke, his head was clear; the words were all falling into place. He knew exactly what to say, and he knew what would come of this, and he was as pleased as he could possibly be with the situation. "I think we all know that OZ is a threat, and they need to be removed. But they are not to be underestimated, and it's going to take more than what we're doing to win. Our efforts lately have been what you could call redundant, and I think we could be a lot more dangerous to OZ together than we could ever be on our own." He regarded all of them, and saw that everyone but Heero was watching him with interest, appraising his words. Heero hadn't moved, but sat so still that Quatre knew he had to be listening. He threw out his line, ready for the bite. "Who's with me?"

Duo and Trowa stepped forward at the same time. "I'm in," Duo said. Trowa nodded, as Quatre had expected.

Wufei spun Trowa's Beretta around on his finger a bit, debating, and then stepped forward, too. "Your goals and mine are the same. We might as well combine our resources."

That left Heero. Everyone looked at him. His shoulders heaved as he sighed, and he staggered back to his feet, turning to face them with a stony expression. "It's my fault that this happened, and you can't say otherwise. I need to set things right, and to do that, I need to take OZ down."

Quatre clapped his hands. "All right, then. I have in my possession a list of OZ installations and resources worldwide, with their exact locations and purposes. I suggest you all give me some kind of contact information, and we can work out new missions from there."

And that was that.

- - -

Zechs leaned back in the passenger seat of the Jeep as Septem sped away from the scene. Zechs had seen the five young agents leaving the building and had immediately ordered Septem to bring a Jeep around, recalling Noin's adventures at the South African base when it had been infiltrated and sabotaged. Now they fled the scene, heading for the proposed destination of all of the Georgia base's equipment.

Zechs pulled the satellite phone out from under his seat and dialed the secure number Treize had given him for contact during this operation. Treize himself picked up on the other side. "Yes, Zechs?" he said smoothly.

Zechs detailed the events of the evening, from the execution of Daybreak to its near-failure when Noventa had shown up early, to OZ's unexpected good fortune in having everything destroyed by five teenage boys. Treize listened patiently and then said, "Is Septem still with you?"

"Yes, sir," Zechs answered. "He's right beside me."

"Kill him."

"Sir?" Zechs said, trying not to show surprise in his voice as he darted a glance at Septem, who was driving the Jeep, oblivious.

"You heard me. That's an order, Zechs. Do it now, I don't care how, and report back here ASAP."

"Yes sir, understood." Zechs disconnected the call and stowed the phone back under the seat before turning to Septem and sighing.

"What did Colonel Treize say, Lieutenant Zechs?" Septem asked, glancing over at him as he navigated the bumpy road.

"Stop the car, please, Septem. I need to get something from the back and don't feel like crawling over the seats."

Septem obeyed, drumming his fingers lightly on the door as Zechs got out, went to the back, poked and prodded around, and came back with a box in his hands.

"What's in that, Lieutenant?" Septem asked, arching his neck and peering at it curiously.

Zechs said nothing, but opened the top flap, reached in, pulled out a gun equipped with a silencer, and shot the stunned Septem in the throat, twice. As the dying officer gurgled wetly and clutched at his throat, Zechs walked calmly around to the driver's side of the Jeep, opened the door, hauled the weakly struggling Septem out, and half-carried, half-dragged him to the ditch at the side of the road. Stripping off all of the man's bloodied clothes and military trappings, including his dog tags, Zechs balled up the lot and stuffed it into the box, dumping it in the back of the Jeep and driving away without a backward glance. "Mission accomplished," he murmured to himself, enjoying the breeze riffling through his long, pale hair.

- - - - - - - - - -

A/N: If that wasn't a good chapter, then I don't know what is. I might sound cocky, but I know it's one of the best so far. Shame you had to wait so long for it. There's no excuse for the amount of time that took me to crank out (again), and I apologize profusely to all who were starting to despair. You'll be gratified to hear that chapter 35 is already half-written as well, so at least this isn't a one-off update break. AND I back things up compulsively now.

Is the phrase 'stand of trees' a Canadian-ism? Link Worshiper has decided that it is, but I personally think she's full of it. And between you and me, it wouldn't be the first time. (.-) I think she's just too much of a city-slicker to have heard the term. Let's not bring into play the fact that I live in what you might call a 'redneck' political subdivision of Canada. Also, it has been stated that I watch Kill Bill too often. I think it's actually LW who watches it too much, to catch these things. You be the judge.

Visit the website. I might redesign it. www . geocities . com / inversification (remove the spaces). That is all.


	35. Taking Care of Business

A/N: I'm happy to say that I'm finished my first bout of midterms for university. I'm also happy to say that this is Chapter 35. I'm unhappy to say that I hate Logic with a deadly passion.

Disclaimer: I'm a destitute student with a laptop and a couple of pens to my name. I doubt you actually want them, and that's all you'd get if you sued me for using parts of Gundam Wing, which doesn't belong to me.

Deadly Beautiful - Chapter 35

_by danse_

_- - -_

"Well, Miss... Noin, was it? I must say that you certainly seemed to read my mind. I agree that Her Highness requires some sort of protection, given the amount of strife revolving around the royal family that has occurred in this small but proud nation." Pargan idly scratched behind his ear. "But I wonder how it was that you found out about Her Highness' sudden return when it was supposed to be a secret, and how you have so quickly jumped on the role of bodyguard to her person."

Noin folded her hands in her lap, glancing around the elegant sitting room, where the butler and family caretaker was interviewing her. Her resumé, hastily prepared at the local library, was on the cherry wood coffee table in front of him, and he referred to it occasionally.

Collecting her thoughts, she laid her aces on the table. "I was brought here on a personal mission with someone very close to Her Highness," she said slowly. "That mission was brought up short, but he charged me with my own: a promise to do what I could to protect her from danger."

Pargan gave her a calculating look. "Who was the man who charged you with this heavy task?" he asked.

She met and held his gaze. "It was Milliardo Peacecraft," she said.

Pargan's eyes widened slightly, and she thought she heard him mutter, '_Mein Gott_,' but with her extremely limited understanding of German, she might have been wrong. He straightened a little more in his seat. "Milliardo Peacecraft? He informed you that this was his name?"

"I trust his word," she said.

"What alias does he go by, then? He has been under my radar for years, if this is the case and he is still alive."

Noin hesitated. "I'm... I'm not sure if I'm at liberty to reveal that. He has said repeatedly that he doesn't want his whereabouts made known to other people. He especially doesn't want Her Highness, Miss Relena, to know that he is still alive. He wants her to have the position that is rightfully his, and if he must be believed dead, then so be it."

Pargan smiled. "That boy has not changed in fourteen years, I see." He stood up, offering his hand. "Miss Noin, I am a trusting man. I may be an old fool for placing such trust in others, but there it is. So this trusting old fool believes your words, and you may have this position, as a favour from myself and you to Milliardo. Wherever and whomever he may be now, may God go with him."

Noin took the proffered hand and shook it firmly, sealing the agreement. "Thank you, sir, on his behalf."

"Please, I am merely the butler and caretaker. Her Highness is your employer; please call me Pargan."

She grinned. "Thank you, Pargan. When do I start?"

He looked at his pocket watch. "Her Highness should be on her way home from school, actually. I can introduce you to each other when she comes home."

Pargan made tea, and less than fifteen minutes later, Relena came home, the one remaining royal limousine pulling around the back of the drive to the garage as she walked in the east entrance. After freshening up and changing out of her school uniform, she was escorted into the sitting room by Pargan, where Noin stood by the window, drinking her tea. She turned around when Relena entered, set down her teacup, and gave her a slight bow, dipping her head formally. "It's an honour to meet you, Your Highness."

Relena stood by the couch, giving her a quizzical look. "My name is Relena," she answered. "And you are...?"

Pargan introduced Noin. "This is Lucrezia Noin. She will serve as your bodyguard, and will escort you to school and other places where you wish to go."

Relena looked Noin up and down with one eyebrow raised. "Why do I need a bodyguard?" she asked. "Am I in some kind of danger?"

Noin glanced at Pargan, who silently gave her permission to answer the girl's question. "I hope not. Certainly you shouldn't be with my protection."

Relena observed Noin thoughtfully, her head tilted girlishly to one side. Finally she stepped forward, offering her right hand to shake. "Well, then, it's a pleasure to meet you." She sat down on one of the couches and let Pargan pour her a cup of tea, which she balanced on her knee as she gestured for Noin to sit opposite her. "Please, tell me all about yourself."

Noin sat obligingly, and they talked for over an hour. Noin talked at length about her family and her childhood, growing up in Greece, and her education at military school. She told Relena about how she'd planned to be a math teacher, and about some of her other little secrets, in an effort to make them feel closer. However, she kept her biggest secret to herself: her association with OZ, and her relationship with Relena's brother, who the girl thought was long since dead. As they talked, drinking tea, laughing and joking companionably, and eventually were called to dinner, Noin couldn't help a private smile of delight. It appeared that it would be easy to keep her promise to Zechs.

- - -

Zechs arrived back at the OZ headquarters in southern France early in the morning, and after a nap and shower, he went to Treize's office to formally announce his return and further discuss the happenings of the night before with the Colonel. Treize greeted him with a friendly smile as he walked in the office and sat down.

After Zechs confirmed Septem's death and handed over the box of his clothes and personal effects to Treize, he elaborated more on the actions of the five young men who had destroyed the Georgia base the night before. Treize was highly interested in what he had to say, but none of the revelations that Zechs had described to him thus far appeared to surprise him to any degree, which seemed odd.

Finally, Zechs had fully recounted the mission, and Treize rearranged some papers on his desk as he dropped his own bombshell. "Zechs, you've done a fine job of this operation. No, I mean that. It didn't work out exactly as we'd planned, but you did as you were told and handled the surprises that were thrown at you quite admirably. I appreciate your taking care of Septem for me in a professional fashion. Frankly, that man was on his last chance anyway, and I'd quite had enough. It was a good time to let him go. But that's not my point here.

"Zechs, I've put in a request to have you promoted, and it went through. Next week, you will be Lieutenant-Colonel Zechs Merquise." Treize stood up, came around his desk, and put out his right hand to shake.

Zechs stared at the hand in numb shock, not really seeing it. "A... promotion?" he said softly. "That's... er... I'm floored, sir."

"Congratulations," Treize said, as Zechs slowly stood up and shook his hand. The young officer left the room in a daze.

Treize smiled.

- - -

Hilde was watching TV when Duo walked in the front door of their apartment on the evening of June 12th, simultaneously dropping his briefcase in the entranceway and yanking at the knot of his tie until it undid itself. He shuffled into his bedroom and shuffled back out five minutes later in a Def Leppard T-shirt and black sweatpants with a hole in the knee, to collapse on the empty side of the couch.

Hilde studied him carefully. "There's Coke in the fridge," she said.

Duo promptly got up and shuffled into the kitchen. She heard the fridge door open and close over the volume of the TV, and thirty seconds later he was back on the couch, popping open a can of Coke and slugging back an enormous mouthful.

After he'd drained half the can with his eyes glued to the TV, he finally set it down on the old coffee table with a quiet sigh and said, "Hi."

She grinned. "Rough trip?"

"Not as bad as the last one," he said. "Well, actually, yes it was, but they were bad in completely different ways. You can't really compare the badness of the two trips to each other." He let his head flop against the back of the couch. "What the hell are we watching?" he suddenly demanded.

She glanced at the set. "Jerry Springer," she replied, reaching for the remote.

"No, leave it. I haven't watched my one episode of Springer for this year yet." He flapped his hand at her without moving any other part of his inert body. She didn't know what he'd do when he needed to pick up his Coke again.

Hilde sat and studied her unlikely roommate, thinking about the revelation she'd had the day before. It still made sense, seeing him sprawled on the couch beside her tonight, and that scared her. She'd been hoping that when he came home, she'd take one look at him and realize that what she'd figured out wasn't remotely true, and that Duo was just an average guy from the company who worked a lot and who owned a gun for self-protection because he was a paranoid American in New York City. If that was true, then she could just laugh it off privately and carry on with her increasingly unusual life.

That wasn't happening at all. Even worse, now she had to figure out how to deal with it. She didn't think they could carry on for very long, keeping it a secret from each other that they did the same job. It was absurd.

"Duo," she said, breaking the television-induced silence.

He rolled his head listlessly toward her. "Hmm?"

She tucked one leg under her, reaching for her own can of Coke on the table. "Tell me about your trip," she said innocently, never taking her eyes from his face.

She was impressed that his tired expression only flickered for an instant, showing only the tiniest traces of panic before it shifted to bewilderment. "What for? It was just a boring business trip," he insisted.

She took a sip of her drink. "I'm heading for another promotion within a few months, and I like my job," she answered. "I might be going on business trips before you know it, and I wanted to know what they're like. Please tell me."

She knew Duo couldn't argue or shut her down without looking like a jackass. He mustered the energy to lean forward and grab his drink from the table, taking a few gulps from it as he presumably thought up a convincing story.

"We were meeting with a startup company from Russia, talking about some mutual assistance. Basically it was kind of like a merger, but they would get to pretend they were still an independent company." He stared at his can as he told his story, absently making crinkling sounds with it.

"What was the bad part?" Hilde asked. "Did the talks break down?"

He frowned. "Not really. But... the CEO of the other company managed to have a heart attack several hours before we arrived there, and as a result we didn't make any headway. When your leader is nearly on his deathbed, it's hard to discuss the future, I guess."

"Hmm, that's not very good at all," Hilde said, trying to keep anything out of the ordinary from her voice.

Duo looked up at her. "What have you been doing with yourself?" he asked.

"Oh, um, I went to work. Yesterday I vacuumed. Made sure I got the dust bunnies behind the couch."

"Really?" Duo said, looking strained.

They turned their attention back to the TV almost simultaneously, just in time to catch the end of Jerry Springer.

- - -

When Heero arrived back at J's headquarters the next morning, he successfully slipped past the guards only to discover there was already another assignment waiting for him. J didn't comment on his absence the whole night, although he had most likely been looking for Heero already. He merely handed Heero a file folder and dismissed him from the office, leaving his agent to peruse its contents on his way back to his quarters.

It was a simple mission: he had to deliver a sensitive message to a colleague of J's in New York City. After Heero read the page, he stopped in the hallway, looked up at the ceiling in disgust, and turned around to march right back into J's office. He threw the folder down on the desk.

"I'm not your goddamned errand boy," Heero growled, crossing his arms as he kept the desk between them. "Send a trainee, for God's sake. This is a waste of my energy."

J looked up at his employee calmly. "Where were you yesterday and last night? You couldn't have gotten back more than an hour ago."

Heero swallowed and kept his arms crossed, shifting his weight from one foot to the other.

J smiled and continued. "If you don't question my motives, I won't question yours. Why don't we just carry on, hm? This is a sensitive document, and you are on the shortlist of people who I trust to carry the information to its destination promptly and securely. My normal channels aren't trustworthy enough for this message. Now, your flight leaves in thirty minutes. Perhaps you should clean yourself up before you leave." He twisted his high-backed chair around to face the window, cutting himself off from Heero.

Heero exhaled forcefully through his nose, grabbed the file, and gave the back of the chair the finger before leaving the room again. He needed a shower.

- - -

Heero got off of the plane at JFK Airport at eleven o'clock in the morning, local time. He took his carry-on bag and hailed a taxi to head for the address he'd been given in Brooklyn, the message in a completely sealed envelope in his bag. He watched glumly as the busy, dirty streets moved past the cab window, noting the traffic and figuring that he might have walked faster. J was paying for the taxi though, and it was probably safer for the sake of the document he was carrying for him to sit in the back of a car than walk on the open streets. He settled into the seat, paying minimal attention to the hip-hop music the driver had on the radio.

When the car pulled up in front of an office building with granite front steps, Heero paid the driver and got out, scanning his surroundings carefully for any threats to his person or his cargo. Finding none, he walked up the steps and into the building, heading for the receptionist's desk. He showed her a note that J had written for him, presumably in code, and she smiled as she handed it back. "Fifth floor, end of the hall. You're expected."

He nodded at her and strode toward the elevator.

On the fifth floor, he got out of the elevator and headed for the door at the end of the hall, opening it to reveal a small waiting area with chairs, a coffee table and plants arranged opposite the little reception desk. An elderly woman sat behind the desk, and looked up at him as he entered. He showed her the note, and she smiled. "He's just seeing someone right now. Would you mind having a seat? I'm sure they'll be done soon."

Heero obeyed and sat, a little annoyed that this objective had to take any longer than it had already. He put the bag down at his feet and drummed his fingers absently on his thigh as he studied a Monet print on the wall.

Finally, the heavy, oak door to the inner sanctum opened, and a young man walked out. Heero was inspecting the condition of his sneakers and didn't look up at the newcomer, but the secretary's words felt like cold water running down his spine.

"Have a good day, Duo," she said.

A familiar voice responded. "Same to you, Helen."

_So our employers are connected, too...._ Heero studied his shoes intensely as the other door closed softly behind Duo. As soon as it had, he got up as quickly as he could without looking suspicious and walked into the office.

A man as old as J, with a mushroom cut and an enormous nose, greeted him. "Hello. You come from J with a message?" he asked.

Heero opened his bag and removed the envelope, handing it to the grizzled, old man. He closed the bag again and was about to turn to leave when the man said, "Sit."

"Umm...." Heero didn't know how to respond.

"I may have a return reply. You can save us both some time. Sit."

Heero obeyed as the man ripped open the envelope with a letter opener, using almost unnecessary flourish. It took him five minutes to read the paper, and then he pulled out a fresh letterhead from a desk drawer, grabbing a pen and scribbling a reply. Sealing it in a new envelope, he handed it to Heero. "Please return that to your employer, Yuy."

Heero didn't show his surprise at hearing his name; it had probably been contained within the message he'd brought. With a nod, he took the envelope and put it in his bag before leaving the office.

When the elevator returned to the first floor, he got out to see Duo's long braid yet again. The other teen was talking to a blonde office girl in the lobby. Heero hung back and watched as Duo said goodbye to the girl and walked outside, and then he followed.

His quarry walked around the side of the building, swinging car keys on his finger. Strains of whistling carried back to Heero's ears. Duo walked into the covered parking lot next door to the building, and Heero continued down the block a bit, noting the security guard at the entrance to the lot. Five minutes later, a vintage, black-and-chrome beast of a Mustang roared out of the garage and up to the street, blending in smoothly with the traffic. Heero didn't even need visual confirmation of the driver to know who it was.

Remembering his thoughts only an hour earlier about the traffic, and noting that it was lunchtime rush hour, Heero strolled along the sidewalk, keeping an eye on the old car ahead as it moved through the congested streets. Duo slipped through every hole he could find in the traffic (and he found a surprisingly high number of them) and Heero had to jog to keep up a few times, but he eventually tailed his declared nemesis back to a six-storey brownstone in another part of Brooklyn.

As Duo parked at a broken parking meter in front of the building and went inside, Heero walked up to the car. Counting silently to twenty, he waited until he knew Duo wouldn't be near the front door anymore and then went around to the driver's side. Pulling his ever-present lock-picking kit from his jacket pocket, he knelt down and had the door open in less than a minute. With a feral grin, he slid into the vinyl driver's seat, noting that everything in the car was stock except the expensive sound system. A silver cross on a chain hung from the rearview mirror.

_The only positive thing to say about him, then, is that he has good taste in cars._ Heero slid down in the seat, reaching under the dash to get at the ignition wires. The car quickly roared to life under his experienced hands, and he smiled more broadly. _But it's not nearly as fun unless they know...._ He spotted a scrap of paper on the dash, an old lottery ticket, and dug a pen out of his bag. Scribbling a quick note, he got out of the car quickly and stuck it to the broken parking meter next to the soon-to-be-empty spot. Nearly beside himself with nefarious glee, he got back in the stolen car and peeled off down the street, heading for the airport again.

- - -

Duo left his apartment about a half an hour later, bouncing out the front door of his building and jogging over to his car, his key already out. He stopped dead when he got to the curb.

"Where the _fuck_...? What the _fuck_...?" He raised his hands to either side in a futile gesture, dancing around a bit on the curb as he swore ineffectually at his empty parking spot. Finally, he saw the note stuck to the broken parking meter in front of it, and yanked it off feverishly. The message just increased both his outrage and his cursing.

'_Since you can't help but elbow your way into my missions, I thought I'd elbow into your life a little. Nice car; I like how it handles.'_

Below an annoying little picture of a heart was Heero Yuy's name, scrawled in the pointy letters characteristic to Japanese peoples' handwriting. There was more, too:

_'PS. If you want it back, come and get it. I'm not just fucking kidding here.'_

Duo crumpled the paper and threw it at the ground. "Cocksucking sonofabitch!" he snarled at it. "Steal my car! How'm I s'posed to know where you've freaking got it?!" He froze, snared by a thought, and stooped to pick up the note again, un-crumpling it hastily and rereading it a few times. "A-_ha!_" he cried triumphantly, putting it in his pocket and taking off down the block to a place where he could hail a cab. If the cryptic postscript was hinting at what he thought it was, he would find his car.

The cab pulled up to the departure terminal of JFK International Airport and Duo paid him, grumbling. It had been lucky he hadn't left his new wallet in his car, as he was sometimes inclined to do.

He found the Park and Jet lot for people who left their cars at the airport while traveling, and his precious Mustang was parked in the middle. He got in and started it, noting that the wires in the ignition had been fixed, and sighed happily when nothing went wrong. As he was leaving the lot, though, the attendant made him pay a twenty-dollar fee for keeping it in there for half an hour.

"What? That's ridiculous!" he exclaimed.

"As soon as you put it in the lot, sir, we charge for the first day's rent. It's company policy," the girl said, sounding like she'd had this argument a thousand times.

Fuming, Duo gave her a twenty-dollar bill and burned rubber as he peeled out of the lot. He drove as fast as possible for as long as he could on the way back home, and thus burned off some anger. "What I wouldn't give for an open, empty highway though," he muttered, shifting gears like a race car driver as he approached a knot of traffic. "Stupid Heero. Next time I see him, that fucker owes me twenty bucks."

- - - - - - - - - -

A/N: Ta-da. Guess what? The whole story's plotted out to the end now. Hopefully this will mean smooth sailing. But with luck like mine it probably won't. Give me feedback, please.


	36. A History Lesson

Disclaimer: All I want for Xmas is the rights to Gundam Wing. Or maybe just some clothes. I guess.

Deadly Beautiful - Chapter 36

_by danse_

- - -

Quatre sat on the edge of the desk, sipped at his coffee and glanced at the clock for the third time in ten minutes, when the curtain at the door was pushed aside to reveal Trowa. He was dressed in loose, tan trousers and a white, long-sleeved shirt, which he'd only bothered to button up halfway. He also had coffee in hand, and looked very tired.

Quatre grinned, feeling a wave of exhaustion and confusion coming from his friend. "You're kind of late," he said.

"It's kind of the middle of the night," Trowa replied. "I was asleep."

"You'll get used to it. I'm up from six in the evening until ten in the morning, every day. On the plus side, it tends to keep away the jet lag when I have missions." He'd suggested the day before that Trowa keep the same shift of wakefulness as him, so that they could work together on the OZ issue easily. Today was the beginning of Trowa's nocturnal conditioning, and Quatre had roused him from a nap to come discuss things at three in the morning.

Getting right to business, Quatre slid off of the desk and turned to the laptop that sat open upon it. Leaning forward to read the screen, he found his file of OZ locations and turned the computer so that Trowa could read it. Taking a sip of coffee and wincing at the consistency, Trowa looked through the long list quickly, noting that the locations that had already been hit were marked as such by Quatre. "And this entails what?" he asked, pulling out a chair from the conference table nearby and settling in it.

Quatre sat across the table from him, turning the laptop on the desk again so that it faced them. "We've hit only approximately ten percent of the OZ installations worldwide. At our current pace, the time it'll take to finish the job will be measured in years."

"I highly doubt that we have years," the sleepy agent replied. "Looking at this kind of coverage of the globe, I'd be surprised if we have a full year."

"We're on the same page, then," Quatre said, feeling pleased. "I think we'd also agree that we therefore have to pick our targets and pick them carefully. We have limited people, limited time, and limited resources, and we need to strike where it's going to hurt the most." Receiving Trowa's nod, he continued, grabbing a printout off of the desk. "That being said, I've compiled a list of targets that take into account location, size, and apparent importance to their cause, based on the info we have. It represents a bit less than half of the total number of facilities, but that cuts down our work time."

Trowa took the paper and perused it, flipping pages with a blank look on his face. Although Quatre could feel occasional sparks of interest and a wisp of thought from his friend (he rarely got more than that from people), he still felt nervous about how his ideas would be accepted. Finally, Trowa set the paper down on the table. "You got a pen?" he asked.

Quatre tossed him one, which he caught deftly before bending over the second page of the hit list. "I think we can actually cut down this list a little more," he said as he twirled the pen. "It looks here like there's a large facility that deals with..." he read the sheet, "... 'Leo ground units'... on every populated continent. Look." He drew arrows next to seven facilities on the list. "Actually, there's two in Asia. One in western China and one in North Korea." He drew arrows next to several other facilities as he continued. "Also, I suggest we target these couple of facilities that have unique purposes, because they might be significant. The 'Pisces' operation in Côte d'Ivoire, and the 'Cancer' one in Micronesia, and a couple others. Here." He pushed the sheet back at Quatre.

The Arab spy looked at his colleague's choices, and nodded thoughtfully. "Pen," he said, and Trowa put it in his hand. "Also this base here, and this one." He drew arrows, and looked up at Trowa, who had raised an eyebrow. He pointed at the sheet with the tip of the pen. "Look at the commanding officers," he said. "A general at one, and two Lieutenant-Colonels at the other. Take out the high-ranking officers."

Trowa nodded as he pulled the list back. "That brings us down to... fourteen targets." He looked up and grinned. "Quite an improvement."

Quatre smiled back. "Hopefully it's enough to get the point across," he said. "We're going to have a hard time amassing the resources to carry this off as it is."

Trowa leaned back in his chair, drinking his coffee. "You're rich. I'm sure all five of us get paid a fair amount for what we do. Between us, we might have the resources. Time is still an issue, though...."

Quatre stood up. "I'll send out the word. Which one shall we attack first?"

Trowa had already been thinking about it, evidently. "I'm between Argentina and the Congo," he said. "Both are these big 'Leo' facilities."

"I'll ask for a vote," Quatre said, and left the room.

Trowa stared at the sandy ceiling as he put down his coffee cup. Things were really moving now; he hoped the first team mission would work without problems. Thoughts of Catherine entered his head for what felt like the millionth time. _I hope I don't die,_ he thought.

- - -

Wufei was sitting under a tree, doing his daily meditation ritual, when his pager suddenly went off. Cursing, he looked at it and saw the message that Quatre had been instructed to send when he wanted contact. Eyes widening, Wufei aborted his routine and raced for the secure land line in O's hideout, which was only a few blocks away. When he got there, he dialed the number Quatre had given and heard a familiar voice on the other end. "Wufei?" Quatre asked.

"Yes. What is it?" Wufei wished the phone cord was longer so that he could pace the room; he felt very agitated, not having expected any communication for weeks, if ever.

"Would you rather try Argentina or the Congo this year?" Quatre asked laughingly.

"What are my choices?"

"They're the same kind of facility, but Argentina is the only major one in South America, whereas there are a few places of note in Africa."

"Argentina, then," he answered. "Where and when?"

Quatre hesitated. "We're not sure yet," he said finally. "We have an action plan, but not a time line or any resources, as of yet. I was thinking of a meeting to discuss what we plan to do about those things."

Wufei glared at the wall in frustration, wishing to set the wood paneling on fire with his eyes. "Well, then let me know when you've figured something out," he said, and hung up. Growling at his erstwhile team's lack of organization, he went back outside to finish his meditation.

- - -

Even after several days of regular classes, Relena still didn't have any real friends. There were girls who she sat beside or would share a smile or greeting with in the hall, but the language barrier was still too much to get over. She attended beginner German lessons with one of the English-speaking teachers instead of taking German class with the rest of the girls, and she could communicate on a basic level already, but it wasn't nearly enough for conversation. She muddled along in classes as much as she could, finding Math the easiest German-language class to work in.

She sat in the cafeteria one day at lunch, occupying a small, two-person table by herself as she ate and read a book, when she saw someone else set down a tray on the table. She looked up and saw a girl from her Math class. She was pretty, with long, pale blonde hair and exotic features. She had strangely forked eyebrows, though.

"Is this seat taken?" the girl asked in perfect English.

Relena shook her head mutely, caught off-guard by this strange and unexpected interruption to her routine.

Tossing her hair behind her shoulders, the girl sat down in the other chair and extended her right hand. "My name is Dorothy Catalonia. You're the Friedenskraft heir, just transferred here."

Relena nodded, even more bewildered. Since she'd been going by the name Darlian here, she had no idea how this Dorothy person could know her real name. "Um, my name's Relena," she said after a second, shaking Dorothy's hand awkwardly over their food.

Dorothy nodded in acknowledgement, picking up her fork and digging into her spaghetti. "Relena...." She took a bite, chewing in a way that was simultaneously ostentatious and still polite as she stared Relena in the eyes. "You want to know how I know who you are, don't you?" she asked after swallowing.

"Yes."

Dorothy shrugged. "New girl arrives, the palace closes most of its tour route at the same time. You get picked up by a limo, which isn't exactly uncommon, but not everyone here is that rich. Also, I've seen that portrait of the royal family in the palace. And I remember faces when I see them." She smiled in a not altogether reassuring way, and Relena got a sudden, chilling feeling that this girl was not to be underestimated.

The conversation that Dorothy continued between mouthfuls of pasta basically added up to verbal fencing. Every sentence that came from Dorothy's lips poked at Relena's guard, and the poor girl was sent reeling every time, unable to patch together some kind of defense against the assault of conversation.

"So do you follow in your illustrious family's footsteps?" Dorothy asked.

"Pardon?" Relena responded.

"A staunch lover of peace and pacifism? Against war in all of its forms? Prepared to lie there and take it to the last breath?" If the girl had possessed a tail, it would have been lashing around merrily as she spoke.

"I–what–...."

Dorothy twirled her fork idly around her fingers as she looked across the table at her quarry. "The Friedenskrafts have been known for generations as being easy to walk all over, if you're after something of theirs. That's how the last king died–he let his subjects overcome him because he was too weak to do anything about it."

"My father was not weak!" Relena burst out finally. "He was a strong, caring man, who would never allow his people to suffer in any way! They didn't overcome him because he was weak; he let them choose their own paths!"

Dorothy gave her a pitying look. "We study this country's history in this school, you know. Right up to the present day. Everyone knows the basic story: assassination, overthrow, and how the children both vanished into thin air, presumed dead. Obviously we have a slight correction of that tale sitting right here. Who knows, they might find Anastasia of the Romanovs shopping at Macy's next week. But there are a few people who know more about that story than the textbooks and the general public, and apparently, even you, Your Highness." She used the term mockingly.

Relena leaned forward, her eyes narrowed, and hissed menacingly, "And I suppose that you know all about it, don't you Dorothy?"

Dorothy leaned forward until their faces were inches apart. "I do."

The heir to the throne of Liechtenstein burst out laughing. "Who do you think you are, anyway, Dorothy Catalonia?"

Dorothy sat upright again, the picture of haughtiness. "Does the name Dermail mean anything to you?"

"No," Relena responded bluntly.

Dorothy scowled and gave her a condescending look. "Old European money, my dear. My grandfather, the Duke Dermail and head of the Romefeller Corporation, my father, General Catalonia of OZ, and all of the men in the family before them were rich, influential in European politics, and proud to do battle for the family's honour."

Relena raised her eyebrows. "And what about you? Do you have brothers upholding the name?"

"I'm an only child." Dorothy tossed her head again, making the blonde shimmer of her hair move like a wave. "I endeavour to follow in my family's illustrious footsteps all the same, though."

Relena sipped her water. "So you advocate war, then? Is that what you're telling me?"

"It's a necessary step to achieve peace, and to obtain goals for the good of the nation."

"But do you _enjoy _fighting?"

Dorothy's eyes began to hold a spark in them, a positively joyful glow that made Relena feel sick. "What isn't to enjoy about battle? So fierce, so simple and complicated all at once! The clash of weapons and minds, trying to outwit your opponent or die in the attempt! To live your life on the edge of death, and when you die, not to fade away but to burn strongly in the memories of the world, winning honour for yourself and your kin by proving your valour and bravery! There is no greater high." She was enraptured by her own words.

Relena stared. "That's absolutely horrifying!" she cried.

The glow on Dorothy's features faded, but the snarl that replaced it was quickly wiped away by a crafty smile. "Your father tried to stop the uprising," she said softly. "At the very end, he used every resource at his disposal to try and defeat the revolution. Unfortunately for him, it was too little, too late. I hear he and your mother _begged_ for their lives at the end."

Either she was making it up, or the Dermail family's influence spread to governments of small countries, too. Relena suddenly wondered why the granddaughter of the Duke Dermail would end up attending a girls' school in Liechtenstein, of all places. Possible answers to the question tickled the back of her brain in ways that made disturbing amounts of sense.

The bell rang, signalling the end of the lunch hour, and Relena sat in her chair and stared into space in disbelief as Dorothy picked up her school bag and left the cafeteria.

- - - - - - - - - -

A/N: DB turned 2 years old on November 22nd. /dons a party hat/ Hopefully we get another post in before Christmas, but if not, have a good one, everybody.

PS. Minako Nine: Glad we managed to brainwash--I mean, I'm glad you like it. Welcome to the fold. ;)


	37. His Issues Have Issues

A/N: Douzo!

Disclaimer: There ain't no rights on us! There ain't no rights on us! There might be copyrights on some of you guys but there ain't no rights on us!

Deadly Beautiful - Chapter 37

_by danse_

-

Duo sighed loudly as he stared at the contents of the duffel bag on his bed. He snapped his fingers suddenly and grabbed a pair of socks to add to the overnight bag, and then tossed in his toothbrush before zipping it shut.

Even with a week's notice, it hadn't exactly been easy to arrange for travel to Saudi Arabia and back. Luckily, he would be leaving on a Friday, so he didn't have to be back to report to work the next morning. Hopefully.

After telling Hilde on the way to the office that he was leaving early that day to go sign some contracts on the business' behalf, and that he would be back the next day sometime, he hung around to discuss some op-tech with one of Ivanov's people, and feeling his presence was justified, he left for the airport.

He hopped onto a connecting flight that had started from Dallas and would end in Hofuf and, noting the movie was some bland, two-star family romp, settled back into his seat for a nap.

-

Duo found Quatre waiting for him in a jeep outside the airport when he walked out into the Arabic sunshine. It was morning there. He shaded his eyes with one hand, held his bag in the other, and nodded in greeting. Quatre smiled back and opened the passenger door for him, tossing the duffel in the back. Duo sat in the front passenger seat, shut the door, and looked up at his escort, who was still looking at the airport entrance expectantly. He frowned. "Are we leaving, or...?"

Quatre grinned, his eyes still fixed on the sliding doors. "Soon. Gotta wait for Heero."

"Pardon?" Duo hoped he didn't sound too agitated.

"You guys had arrival times within minutes of each other. Two birds with one stone," he said. "Oh look, there he is now."

Duo whipped his head around so fast he thought he heard his neck crick. Sure enough, Heero Yuy was visible inside the airport lobby, advancing upon the sliding doors with a backpack slung over one shoulder. He was wearing a tank top, shorts, and sunglasses. Duo watched and waited apprehensively as his rival walked through the doors, adjusted his sunglasses, nodded at Quatre... and then saw him. It was almost comical, the way he could just see Heero's eyebrows rise above the dark lenses of his sunglasses.

Without a word, Heero grabbed hold of the edge of the jeep and leaped lightly into the back, setting down his backpack as he settled himself. "Hello," was all they could say to each other as Quatre climbed in and started the engine.

It was going to be a long and awkward drive.

-

About two hours later, they had arrived at the secret Maganac base in the middle of the desert, and, led by Quatre, found their way to the small conference room where Trowa and Wufei were waiting for them, engrossed in conversation. The talk halted as they entered the room, and Heero and Duo took the two remaining chairs at the table, side by side, without saying a word. Nods of greeting went around, and the boys got straight to business.

"So," Wufei started. "We're going where, again?"

"Argentina," Quatre answered.

"Details?" Heero asked.

Quatre passed around printouts of the information about the Argentina installation. The three newcomers immediately began to read the papers, while Trowa glanced at his and then shared a look with Quatre as they waited.

After a few moments, Duo cleared his throat for the first time. "A 'Leo' base? What is this? Are they training lions or what?"

Heero glanced at him. "This thing is called Operation _Zodiac_. Think about it."

Duo glared back. "Thanks, genius. I was being facetious. Yes, I can use big words too. What I actually meant is, what is this a code for? Do we know?"

Quatre piped up, hoping to head off the brewing argument. "All we know for sure is that there's a Leo installation on every populated continent, and two in Asia. They'll be big facilities, so they probably have tanks. I'm guessing a lot of ground troops. Cannon fodder, basically."

The others nodded thoughtfully.

"So-o-o-o, the five of us are going into this big bad military compound and make the whole thing go kablooie?"

"Pretty much, Duo," Trowa said with a grin.

Wufei sputtered quietly, and everyone else's attention was drawn to him. He coloured a little, but spoke his mind. "We're just going to every place we can find and destroy it? How many _are _there? There's only five of us, can we even accomplish this?"

Trowa and Quatre were forced to explain all of their decisions of the previous week, displaying the full list of OZ's works and showing how they'd whittled down the list, in consideration of their resources.

"Speaking of resources," Heero said quietly, "we need equipment to do this job, and all the others. How are we going to get ahold of our own?"

The room was silent for a couple of seconds, and then Duo spoke up quietly again. "I can get it," he said.

Everyone else stared in surprise.

He looked around defensively. "What? I know a guy." He shrugged. "Give me a list and the funds, and I can hook us up with what we need for a decent price."

Heero gave him a funny look, which was returned with raised eyebrows, but since no one else seemed concerned by Duo's response, they all settled into plotting out their attack.

"We will avoid the horrific planning botch of last time with some coordinated teamwork and communication," Wufei said, grabbing a pen and flipping over his info sheet to write on the back.

"Quatre, do we have any maps of the place to go by?" Heero asked.

Quatre obediently opened his laptop and accessed the OZ files, finding a blueprint of the Argentinean facility and printing it out. Trowa got up and grabbed an atlas from a small table in the corner, flipping it open to a contour map of Argentina and committing himself to finding the base's exact coordinates on the map.

After a few minutes of quiet contemplation, he swore.

"What?" the others said simultaneously.

"Quatre, are you sure these are the right coordinates?" Trowa asked.

"Quite," he answered. "Why?"

Trowa sighed, his finger on the map. "I've checked three times. The base has to be in a mountainside. This one."

Wufei silently pulled the blank piece of paper toward him and wrote, 'ropes'.

-

Duo stayed at the Maganac base to get some sleep before flying back to the US again. He was walking to the mess hall to find something to drink before bed when he saw Heero ahead of him, apparently heading the same way. Remembering the cheeky note Heero had left when he'd stolen the Mustang, Duo growled softly and quickened his pace.

"Heero!" he called loudly, closing the distance between them. Heero didn't slow down. "Heero! Hey, I'm _talking_ to you!" He leaped forward to catch the other boy by the arm, intending to spin him around to face him. Instead, a hand immediately landed on his and the next thing he knew, he was pinned against the wall by one wiry arm, looking into a glare that could kill. "The fuck?" he choked out. "Way to greet someone, you prick."

"You were going to try to lay me out. It was pretty obvious." The hand gripping Duo's t-shirt slammed him against the wall again, and he fought to push it away.

"I still owe you a favour for dropping my car off at the airport," Duo snapped. "It was ever so nice of you. You owe me twenty bucks and an apology, at the very least!"

Heero released him suddenly, backing off a step. Their part of the hallway was otherwise deserted, it being an odd hour for a meal shift. "Are you kidding me?" he asked, snorting softly with amusement. "I'm not going to _apologize_ to you for shit."

"You had no reason to take my car! It was just juvenile!" Deep inside his head, a niggling voice whispered that it was ironic that Duo should say things like this, but he ignored it. "Do you lack the social skills to even realize that?"

Heero's gaze narrowed again, and one of his hands balled into a fist at his side. "Alright, Maxwell, it's apparent that we need to set some things straight between us. First of all, I don't like you at all. Just because we're working together now doesn't make me your buddy or force me to be remotely kind to you. Secondly, you fucking deserved to have your chain yanked a little, and more. I wanted to kill you earlier, but now I don't think you're worth the effort."

"What the hell did I ever do to _you_?" Duo said loudly, getting in Heero's face, which was a bad idea on his part.

Heero lashed out again, grabbing Duo's face around the chin and slamming him back against the wall so hard that Duo saw stars. He blinked hard, trying to focus on the angry young man before him.

"You know!" he said. "You fucked up my op! I... there are consequences for fucking up my ops!"

"_What_ op? What are you talking about?" he shouted. "For the love of God!"

"Darlian's house! You shot me, and you attracted the attention of the security guards! It was on the goddamned news!"

Duo stared in bewilderment for a second, his hands wrapped around Heero's arm, which was still holding him by the chin. Suddenly he remembered the operation that Heero was talking about. "Wait," he said, "we've already fought about this one... Consequences?"

Heero released him again. "Piss off," he said, walking away quickly.

Duo hit the floor and dusted himself off, staring after his retreating assailant. "Hold a grudge, much? His issues have issues..."

-

A/N: I'm already working on Chapter 38. Go me.


	38. Cross My Heart

Disclaimer: For this disclaimer, I tried to get a guest star. Unfortunately, Mr. Depp had to cancel because of a party of some kind. Instead, I asked my cat to stand in, to tell the world how I don't own Gundam Wing or any part thereof, and how I am making no money whatsoever from this work. All that she would say about it was, "Nyao".

Deadly Beautiful - Chapter 38

_by danse_

* * *

The shop was cramped and somewhat dim, since some of the fluorescent overhead lights had gone out. The light coming through the windows was partially blocked by the yellow lettering stuck to the outsides, which spelled out, 'Buy Sell Trade'. 

Duo strolled in and casually examined a couple of portable CD players until the only other customer left, a tinkling bell heralding her exit. As soon as the door had finished closing, he dropped all pretenses and made a beeline for the counter. The shopkeeper, having of course seen him, watched silently.

"Hello, Howard," he said.

Howard sighed and scratched at his wild, grey hair. "What can I do for you, James?" he asked. "Looking for a watch? I got some nice Rolexes in last week..."

'James' laughed. "I don't need any hot watches, but I do have a list, man. If you would be so kind..."

Howard didn't say another word, but stepped out from behind the counter to lock the front door and flip the sign from 'Open' to 'Closed'. Grinning, Duo followed him into the back room.

Duo had met Howard about a year earlier while doing some work for G. The old man owned a pawnshop in a seedy, run-down apartment area not all that far from where Duo lived. He sold the usual fare, but in the back he'd long ago established an underground weapons storage and dealership. Behind an inch-thick steel door, in what was supposed to be a safe, was a ten-by-ten-foot room stocked to the gills with guns, knives, swords, ammunition, stealth gear, and myriad other criminal and war-related equipment. Duo hadn't the faintest clue how he'd managed to amass all these things without drawing attention to himself, but here it was. Howard seemed to have a talent for finding not only all kinds of junk, but people to sell it to.

Duo pulled out his list and scanned the shelves somewhat eagerly while Howard stood by and supervised. The man had everything from grappling hooks to M-16s to stacks of ammunition, but there were a few notable absentees...

"What happened to all your incendiaries?" Duo asked, turning to face Howard with a coil of rope in his hand.

Howard frowned. "Got out of that shit. Since the government's big terror crackdown, it's pretty damned hard to get detonators and stuff in. If I can't get a selection, I'm not going to bother. Besides, being caught with that stuff would mean an injection for me, I think."

Duo chewed his lip. His list included plastique, a specific kind of remote detonator that he'd figured Howard would have, and a spool of wire. _Shit..._ "Okay, this'll do then," he said finally, indicating the weapons and equipment he'd pulled from the shelves.

Howard glanced at it all and quoted Duo a price, and they proceeded to haggle a bit. Finally, after settling on a thousand dollars less, Howard provided two duffel bags for the equipment and let Duo out the back door. The boy took the alley, which was populated only by stray cats and a sleeping wino, to the end of the block before walking out onto the street again, loading the bags into the trunk of his waiting Mustang and driving back home.

Lost in thought, he got out of the car in front of his building, leaving the bags in his trunk where they would be relatively safe from discovery. He was thinking of how he could get the rest of the equipment he needed. Theoretically, he could just deliver the goods he had and tell the others that he hadn't been able to procure explosives, but he would be damned if he'd come up short this time. This was a test; he needed to come through in spades for the group or he would never be able to gain their respect. Especially not Heero's. All his experience on the street and in the field had taught Duo to classify people according to their role in a group, and Heero had 'Leader' written all over him; despite Quatre's obvious leadership skills and what he'd done already, it was clear to Duo that when it came right down to it, Heero was the dominant personality and would be the one in charge. Duo imagined that as soon as Heero could find a department where he was lacking, he would no longer be a part of this endeavour. He didn't want that to happen, not ever. Not now that he'd found his fight, and his compatriots to fight with.

He stomped up the front steps to the door, digging out his keys. He knew of exactly one place where the stuff he needed would definitely be available. He even knew the exact location where it was kept. The only thing he didn't know was how he was going to break into G's facility and Ivanov's department again without getting himself killed in the process.

_I could just ask him for it, _he thought briefly. Then he smirked. _Yeah_, _I can see that conversation in my head. 'I need some bomb materials. For, um, well... I'm getting ready for the Fourth of July early this year. No? Okay.' Fucking brilliant, Duo._

He'd have to sleep on this one. He had about two days to make it all happen.

* * *

The sun had just risen over the Maganac headquarters, and Quatre and Trowa were both just about ready for bed. Trowa had completely adjusted to a nocturnal schedule by now, and he and Quatre were sitting in the cafeteria eating cake and chatting before going their separate ways to bed. 

"So," Trowa said, taking a bite of cake, "do you think Duo's actually gonna come through with the equipment?"

Quatre gave him a bemused look. "You have no faith in Duo's abilities?" he asked blithely.

"Well... I dunno the guy. I can't say."

Quatre fixed his gaze on his friend. "He will deliver."

"You're so confident," Trowa responded, taking a sip of coffee and wincing only a little. He was getting used to it.

"He said he has a connection," Quatre pointed out. "This Howard seems like the real deal. A little sketchy, maybe, but I think he's got what we're after."

Trowa raised an eyebrow. "Howard? Duo told you his name?"

Quatre froze. Of course, it would have been quite ridiculous for Duo to actually name one of his contacts to people he didn't fully trust yet. Quatre sighed inwardly. Perhaps his cover was finally blown. "Well... no," he said, squirming a little.

Trowa put his fork down, pushed his plate away, and then folded his hands on the table in front of him as he gave Quatre an expectant look.

Quatre could feel his cheeks getting hot under this scrutiny. He stuttered ineffectually, trying to find words. "I, um... it-it's like this, you see..." he scratched his head. At last it all came out in an embarrassed rush. "Icanreadminds," he blurted out.

The only response he got was a blank look.

After a few moments of intense discomfort on Quatre's part, Trowa opened his mouth. "Pardon me?" he asked gently.

The Arabic teen took a deep breath. "I... can kind of, I guess you could call it... I can read people's minds. A little."

"Define, 'a little'." Trowa was wearing a poker face to kill for.

It was like he was outside his own body, looking at himself. Quatre was embarrassed to be acting like a toddler trying to tell a lie, fidgeting and squirming, looking anywhere but at Trowa. "I can feel... what other people are feeling. Sometimes I get a mental image or a bit of coherent thought. Remember that time when we were talking about your sister? In Georgia?"

Trowa sat back in his chair, staring at some point in the distance. He ran his hand down his face, rubbing his eyes and looking tired. "So you read my mind when you did that? I was thinking about my sister and you, like, heard that or something?"

"Close enough, yeah."

Trowa looked right at Quatre, searching his eyes. Quatre was immediately shocked by a deluge of Trowa's emotions, a few whispered words and a flickering image. It was all too fast to sort through. "And Duo was thinking about this Howard guy," Trowa continued.

"He was. The guy looks about sixty and wears Hawaiian shirts."

The quiet boy before him suddenly burst out laughing with his head still in his hands, slicing through the tension as if with a knife. "Hawaiian shirts, eh?" he asked, grinning up at Quatre through his hands.

Quatre relaxed. "Yeah. The ones I saw were like, these incredibly gaudy, tacky things. It's kinda scary." He grinned back.

Trowa stood up, putting down his coffee cup. "I think it's about time I went to bed," he said. He left the cafeteria, still chuckling slightly.

Quatre sat back in his chair and drained his coffee before getting up himself.

* * *

Duo stood outside Dr. Ivanov's office door and took a deep breath, his shoulders heaving. When he'd steeled himself for the operation ahead of him, he knocked on the door. It echoed loudly in the empty hall. He could hear slow, measured footfalls on the other side of the door, and then it opened to reveal Ivanov standing in front of him, adjusting his reading glasses on his nose. 

The old man beamed, opening the door wider. "Come on in, Duo. I am glad to see you, yes?"

Duo walked into the softly lit office, noting that the work lamp over the desk and another one in the far corner cast the only light. A tangle of wire and an open spiral notebook sat on the desk, abandoned to answer the door. He cast a short, sideways glance at the steel locker behind Ivanov's chair. That was where the equipment he needed would be.

Duo removed his favourite, black trench coat and hung it on the coat rack by the door, settling himself in the armchair before Ivanov's desk. "How goes, old man?" he said teasingly.

Ivanov scowled playfully. "'Old man', tch. Do not wag your tongue at your elders, boy. Age means experience! And wisdom!" He sat down, looking relieved. "And let us not be forgetting the aches and pains, yes?"

Duo relaxed a little and engaged himself in the conversation, chatting with Ivanov about the pile of wire on his worktable and getting into a nice and geeky discussion about explosives, as usual. He was waiting for his window of opportunity; eventually the old Russian scientist would have to leave to use the bathroom down the hall or answer a message or deliver something to a colleague, and then he'd be able to make his move.

After an hour and a half, when it was getting well into the evening, Ivanov finally felt the call of nature. "I will be right back," he said, waving slightly as he wandered out of the room. Duo sat tensely in his chair until the door clicked shut, and then was on his feet and behind the desk in one fluid motion.

He yanked open the second drawer down on the right and reached into the back, feeling the fake back to the drawer. He gave it a little push with his fingertips, and it moved to reveal the cold, hard shape of a key. Duo was at the locker in a flash, twisting the key in the lock and pulling the door open without a sound. He scanned the shelves, grinned, and pulled out two palm-sized spools of fine-grade wire, one of the remote detonators he needed, and with a gleeful little chuckle, a five inch cube of a new kind of plastic explosive, which had been divided into two slabs and wrapped in plastic film. He had enough in his hands to easily level the building he was standing in, if used properly. Chewing his lip, he did some mental calculations and took one more half-slab, choosing safe over sorry. He could further ration the explosive later if he needed to. He shut the locker door quietly and put the key back, arranging everything just as he'd found it. The whole break-in had taken about a minute in total.

He crossed the room quickly to put his purloined equipment into the pockets of his trench coat, and was just tucking in the last spool of wire when the door suddenly opened wide. Duo was startled out of his mind and jumped guiltily, turning to the door with the spool still visible in his hand.

The person standing there was not Ivanov.

He stared. "What the fuck are you doing here?" he said hollowly, feeling his cheeks getting warm.

"I should ask you the same thing," Hilde responded, eyeing him. "Where's Ivanov?" she said after a minute.

"Bathroom."

"What's that in your hand?" she asked, taking an attack stance as she edged a step closer and nodding at his hand.

He jammed the spool angrily into his coat pocket and shrugged it on, turning to face her as he pulled on the lapels. "It's nothing." He hoped she could see the warning on his face. He was trying to project it as much as possible. He didn't want to be forced to do anything he would regret. Unfortunately, she was blocking the door.

Hilde studied him warily. "I found your gun behind the couch."

Duo had already suspected as much. He was kind of amused that neither of them had been really surprised to see the other here. "I left it there that night you were having the nightmare, when you tried to dismember me in your sleep."

She blushed instantly.

"Sleep is a bad place to be when there's potential enemies around," he answered. His mind was racing. _Ivanov's going to come back from the bathroom, and she's going to tell him everything._

"You're going to tell me why you're stealing from Ivanov, or there'll be more potential enemies," she said softly. It was a well-executed threat, really, but he couldn't take her seriously when he could probably take her out with his left hand alone.

Duo took a step forward, thinking he could hear footsteps in the hallway again. The bathroom was probably a five-minute walk for Ivanov, with his arthritis. "Hilde," he said as kindly as he could, "you don't want to get into this. You've–we've," he corrected himself, "gotten you in over your head as it is, if you're into this end of G's operation. Just... stand aside."

Hilde didn't budge. "You would actually steal from G, from Ivanov. They're kind men with a good cause. I can't believe you. Have they ever done anything to hurt you in all the time you've been here?"

Duo was sure he heard someone coming now. He rushed Hilde, shrugged off her amateur attempt at a counterattack, and had her pinned on the floor in less than five seconds. She opened her mouth, and he clapped a hand over it. "You're coming with me, and you're going to be quiet," he said. He saw her fiery glare that said otherwise, and his voice dropped to a whisper. "If you don't, I will kill you. I will kill you with my bare hands." He tightened his grip on one of her pressure points, and her eyes widened. She nodded quickly, looking at him with fear in her eyes.

Feeling sorry for her and disgusted with himself, Duo hauled her off the floor and dragged her to the door that linked the office and the explosives lab beside it. It was unlocked, thankfully, and they collapsed through it and shut it quickly. Duo didn't stop to listen at the door for Ivanov's return; he knew he'd probably hurt the old man's feelings by leaving without a word to him. That hadn't been the plan.

It was too late now. Knowing Ivanov might check the hall to see if Duo was still around, he led Hilde to the window in the back, flipping open the latch and pushing her through ahead of him. When they emerged outside, not far from the parkade, Hilde stopped, turned to him, and looked ready to let loose with both barrels right there, but he shook his head silently and guided her toward his car. "When we get home," he said.

She fumed in silence all the way back to the apartment, and fumed some more while he made coffee and parked her with a cup on one of the kitchen stools, sitting across from her.

Duo got one good sip of coffee in before her barrage started. "_Who the fuck do you think you are, Lara fucking Croft?_"

"I'm not a chick. Although I guess I do have the hair," he said, examining his braid.

Hilde was contemplating ways to kill him with her coffee cup. Duo knew three good ones and could probably improvise a fourth with it in his hand. She glared at him. "So tell me what the hell that was all fucking about," she swore. "Tell me why I shouldn't report you, or better yet, kill you."

"Don't get overconfident, Hilde. I could kick your ass three times over. I was just doing my best not to hurt you there." He sighed. "You really wouldn't understand why I was robbing the place anyways."

"What did you take? Bomb stuff?" She hadn't touched her coffee yet.

He nodded. "I needed it, and I couldn't get it anywhere else in time."

She wanted to know what he could possibly need it for that G wouldn't know about.

He had to tell her the whole story, in the end. "There's me and these four guys. We have an objective. An outside one. Kind of.

"I've been in this organization for nearly ten years, and my missions have always been solo. Never had a partner, never met anyone on the op that I had orders to work with. Then suddenly I'm doing these ops and I keep running into people. Teenage guys, my age. Same weird situation as me. Sometimes they have different objectives than me, but usually we have the same goal." He reflected on the aftermath of that failed job at the Darlian mansion, when he'd discovered that Heero had been tasked to kill the daughter and Duo to kidnap her.

"We discovered that we all have the same bad guy, this group called OZ. And we're all going on the same operations, independently. This group is... bad. We're talking like, global domination bad. So why aren't we tasked to work together? Are there really five of us in the same situation, doing the same thing, and our bosses don't know? If that's true, then they're all idiots incapable of leading the groups they seem to lead. If it's not, then we're pawns. And I'll be damned if I'll go along with that.

"So we're working together, the five of us, under the radar, and we're going to destroy OZ on our own, because we can and we should. And I needed a bomb that I couldn't get, so I went and got some blind help from the people who should be looking after this anyway. Was it wrong of me?" Duo finished his speech and crossed his arms, looking at Hilde.

Hilde was stunned. _Duo's a good guy after all..._ She wasn't sure if she believed him or not, he was a fairly accomplished liar. She twisted her lips, mulling it over. "I think you're lying," she finally said, testing the waters.

Duo didn't react. "You have my word that I am not."

"What's that worth?" she smirked.

He was silent for a minute. "I swear on the Mustang. And on this cup of coffee." He took another sip.

"Your twin loves, the car and coffee?"

He grinned.

She shook her head. "I don't think you could make up _all_ of that on the spot, anyway. You're not that quick." She needed some more proof though. "So what are you doing with this crap anyways?"

"I shouldn't have told you this much; you might be spying for G," he growled.

She gave him a straight look. "You have my word that I am not," she answered.

"I'd better," Duo answered, setting down his cup. "We're going to Argentina. It's a big and complicated operation."

Hilde finally took a sip of her coffee, and then made a face. It was getting cold. "So when will I get to meet these guys?" she asked.

Duo choked on his coffee. "Excuse me?" he gasped.

"You're going to make me just believe that they exist without ever actually seeing that they do? I don't trust you that much, Duo." She raised an eyebrow.

Duo stared at her for a second, and then sighed. "I'll arrange something. But you have to keep your mouth shut, got it?" he threatened.

"Promise," she said, raising her right hand in the air. She watched as Duo got up to put his empty mug in the sink and leave the room. As she heard the TV turn on, she got up slowly, stretching her arms.

She was pretty sure she believed what Duo said, but she knew she would be foolish to take his word for it. And yet he had just accepted her word that she wouldn't rat him out, without extracting any real promises from her that she would keep his secrets. He trusted so easily; he had trusted her when he'd taken her in and when he'd found her a job, and now he was banking on her not getting him killed. _Although maybe it's payback for the things he's done for me, I guess._ She rinsed her mug out, left it in the sink, and went to the bathroom.

* * *

A/N: On a note that has absolutely nothing to do with the story, guys suck and no one really needs them. On a note that does, I really dislike how the story editor on here won't let me useASCII charactersfor part dividers anymore. Happy Easter and sorry I'm so slow with the writing stuff. 


	39. With a Little Help from My Friends

A/N: This mission took several thousand sittings to write. Or at least it felt like it did. I'm pretty happy with it though, because it got me going on the story again. :D

Disclaimer: For my birthday yesterday, I asked for the rights to Gundam Wing and all parts thereof, like I do every birthday and Christmas. I'm sure we all know how beautifully it failed again, but I did get the new Sloan album! So that's something. Since I'm not making any money from this and I can't afford it and all...

Deadly Beautiful - Chapter 39

_by danse __

* * *

_

Wufei lowered his binoculars and let them hang around his neck as he frowned. Quatre stood beside him, shading his eyes from the evening sun as he peered up at the hills ineffectually. "Well?" he asked.

The Chinese teen scratched the back of his neck, adjusting the strap of the binoculars. Finally, he dug into the pockets of his cargo shorts for his notepad and pen, crouching to balance it on his knee as he scribbled. Quatre knelt next to him, bracing one foot behind him so that his heavy backpack wouldn't topple him down the dusty hillside. His leg muscles still quivered some from the strain of climbing the mountain to the gentler slope that the compound was built on.

Wufei drew a hasty triangle with an 'X' near the top. "This is the target building," he said, tapping it with his pen. Below it, he drew three straight lines that pointed towards the 'X'. "Three service roads through the jungle. From what I could see, there's checkpoints here, here, and here." He drew circles at intervals along the roads. "They were stopping everyone going through. Also..." He added what looked like a circle on a stick to the very left of the service roads. "There's a tower over here, with a satellite dish on top. I couldn't see what was inside it because the sun reflects off the windows too much, but it's probably for surveillance. I doubt that they can see us here though, since we're still five miles away through the brush."

Quatre squinted at the hasty drawing, wheels churning in his head. Finally, he unclipped the radio from his belt. "Come in Zero, do you copy?" He let go of the communication button and listened to the static until Heero's voice broke through.

"I hear you, Sheik. What's the situation?"

Quatre pressed the button again. "We have a plan. I'll be down in five. Over."

"Roger that."

Wufei gave Quatre a shrewd look as he clipped the radio back on his belt. "We have a plan?" he asked.

Quatre just grinned at him and started back down the steep hillside, going carefully so as not to slide the rest of the way down.

When they reached the other three boys, who were sitting on their backpacks in the shade of a boulder, the meeting began. Quatre and Wufei shrugged off their packs as the circle widened to include them. Heero had to nudge Duo, who had dozed off while leaning against the boulder, his sunglasses hiding his eyes.

"So," Quatre said, taking Wufei's notepad from him and showing everyone the drawing he'd made. After explaining what all the symbols and lines meant, he launched into his plan. "I suggest three teams. I'll go with Wufei, Duo can go with Heero, and Trowa will go alone." Everyone scowled at this decision, but kept quiet, knowing he would have a reason. "Heero and Duo, you will be Team Alpha. You two go in first and distract the security while Wufei and I, as Team Beta, act as cover for Gamma over here," he gestured in Trowa's direction. "Thus protected, Trowa will move in and look after the destruction on his own. A quick in-and-out job, Trowa; no time for anything else. As soon as you give us the signal, we'll all regroup back here and get the hell outta Dodge. Questions?"

Wufei had one. "How are we getting up there, with the tower and the checkpoints and all that? There will be a lot of fences where the road isn't." He had a point.

Quatre considered it. "We'll move through the brush as much as possible. Mostly though, we're relying on Alpha to clear us a path through one of the checkpoints. You two can have the biggest guns we have to get your point across."

Heero brooded quietly, staring at the toe of Duo's boot, which was sprawled in front of him. "I've got a better idea, actually," he said quietly. "Just let us look after it." His eyes were dark.

"Alright then," Quatre said, feeling a little uneasy although he tried not to show it. "We'll all head up to within two miles of the compound, and then Alpha will go ahead and give us the 'all clear' to proceed. Agreed?"

They all got up, shrugged on their packs, and set off through the growing twilight.

* * *

An hour later, Heero and Duo were creeping silently through the wet jungle in full darkness, relying on moonlight and the distant glow from the compound to see where they were going. They both had Uzis slung across their backs, which made the going awkward even though they'd left their backpacks behind with the others.

Duo took a quick swig from his water bottle, and then whispered, "So you have a plan then?"

Heero appeared to be ignoring him. Probably because it was a stupid question, intended only to start a conversation. Duo tried another tactic. "What is this going to entail?" he asked.

Heero was silent as they eased themselves over a fallen tree, and then answered in a faint whisper. "I'm going to need your full cooperation with this. I need your skills."

Skills? He had skills? More importantly, ones that Heero apparently didn't have? Duo shot the other boy a sharp look and nearly tripped over a root, his gun sliding over his shoulder. They had to stop while he rearranged himself before continuing.

"So-so what are we doing then?" Duo asked after a couple more minutes.

Heero frowned, but Duo couldn't see it in the darkness. "My plan was to hijack one of the checkpoints and man it ourselves so that the others can get in and out safely. And I'm going to need your full cooperation because you're strongest at stealth maneuvers and impersonation."

Whether Heero meant that it was Duo's strongest skill or that he was the best in their group at it wasn't clear.

* * *

Forty-five minutes after watching Team Alpha depart through the trees, Quatre's radio crackled to life through his earpiece. "Alpha to Beta, we have secured a checkpoint. Please proceed."

_Secured a checkpoint? In less than an hour?_ Quatre shivered. Those two were a formidable team when they wanted to be; he was glad they were on his side. He pressed the communication button on his radio. "Roger that, Beta. Alpha proceeding. Which checkpoint?"

"The leftmost." Radio silence.

Quatre looked at Wufei and Trowa, who were watching him expectantly. "Well, gentlemen, that was our cue."

They left their backpacks with the other two, stashed under a fallen log obscured by some hanging foliage. After checking one last time around them and making sure they were all armed, they proceeded along Team Alpha's trail through the undergrowth.

Half an hour later, the three teens had come as close as possible to the designated checkpoint without emerging from the camouflage of the jungle. "Can you see anything?" Quatre whispered.

The other two were squinting ahead until Wufei remembered he still had his binoculars. "Two guards at the gate," he confirmed. "I can't see their faces."

Quatre slumped. "I thought they said they'd secured it."

Trowa, however, was agitated. "Hang on," he said, silently beckoning for Wufei's binoculars. He peered through them at one of the two small booths on either side of the road, focusing them to the maximum, even leaning forward a bit, and then started to chuckle, pressing his hand over his mouth to obscure the noise as he handed back the binoculars.

Wufei grabbed them back and trained them on the gate again, straining to see what was so funny. "What? What is it?" Quatre said.

"The one on the left, over there?" Trowa pointed, still grinning. "That's _Heero_."

Quatre gaped, realizing what had happened. "They're _pretending _to be the guards?" he squeaked.

Wufei started chuckling, too.

Trowa glanced around. "Okay, it looks like the coast is clear. Shall we?"

They stood as a unit and approached along the side of the road, still wishing for bushes to hide in. At least they weren't carrying anything larger than handguns. The three boys approached the guard station and looked up at the grinning face of Duo Maxwell, an army-green cap pushed down to shade his eyes. He was wearing the ID tag of someone who looked almost nothing like him, stuck to the front pocket of a uniform that looked snug. "State your business," he barked staunchly.

"To blow the place up," Wufei quipped.

"All right, carry on," Duo grinned, pressing a button. "I love this job!"

Heero could be seen in the other booth shaking his head slowly. Quatre wondered if there were bodies curled up on the floors of the booths behind them. He shivered again, involuntarily.

The trees reappeared a short distance after the checkpoint, and the two remaining units melted into them once again, knowing that the gates wouldn't be the only security between them and the buildings. It was unlikely, though, that there would be any mines or other traps in the woods within the fence; you never knew when you could lose your own men to an accident simply for wandering in the trees.

"I can't believe," Wufei said, "that the two of them–who don't get along at all, I might add–were able to seize that gate without any sign of a struggle in under fifteen minutes. I wonder how they managed it."

"They're starting to warm up to each other," Trowa said, always quietly observant. "They can't help but respect each other for their skills, despite whatever happened before to make them dislike each other. I think you'll find their opinions of each other changing." He shut up after that, and they were all silent for a while, saving their breath for the hike as their thoughts wandered all over that subject and the mission ahead.

* * *

Ten minutes later, the three boys were crouched behind a log, Trowa and Quatre on the ground looking at each other as Wufei peered through his binoculars. Between the moon and the lights on the outside of the nearby building, it wasn't hard to see.

"Two with Uzis," Wufei reported. "Fifteen metres."

"Can we take them?" Quatre asked.

"I can see myself taking down the one on my left, but the other one would fill me with holes," he responded.

Quatre peered over the log, hoping that his blond hair wouldn't be visible through the foliage. He saw what Wufei was talking about, and pulled out his gun, checking that it was loaded. "I've got the other one; you go," he said. He turned to Trowa. "You'll be ready to go through the door. Once you're inside, be cautious, but _go_. Wufei and I will follow as best as we can and try to clear any obstacles for you. When you're done in there, you leave. Go out how we came in, if possible. Tell Heero and Duo not to wait for us. You outfitted?" He knew Trowa was, but better safe than sorry.

Trowa nodded and patted his middle. The C-4 was strapped there along with the detonator, secured in place when they'd abandoned their backpacks earlier.

"All right," Quatre said. He took a deep breath and let it out slowly. "Let's move."

Wufei stood up and crept through the dark jungle with the silent confidence of a tiger, his eyes on his prey. Trowa watched as he suddenly slid out of the dense greenery and melted into the wall, seeming to glide until he was behind the first sentry. As he delivered a swift blow to the base of the man's neck and lowered the unconscious body to ground in mere seconds, it occurred to Trowa that he probably could have used the guard's gun to take out the other one, who was just now raising his weapon to kill Wufei. A silent takedown was needed here, though. He suddenly heard a single, silenced gunshot and watched as the advancing Ozzie was jerked back by an unseen force, landing on the ground with a soft thump. Trowa turned and saw Quatre holding up his gun, a chilled, focused look on his innocent face. He'd been screwing on the silencer and lining up his shot while Trowa had been distracted by Wufei.

Quatre lowered his gun and turned to give Trowa an expectant look. Trowa nodded and got to his feet, jogging to the door as the other two quickly cleaned up the scene.

Once he was inside, Trowa looked around, feeling tense. As he glanced to his right, though, he saw the best thing he could possibly come across in his situation: a bathroom. Smiling, he walked in, noticed that it was empty, and locked himself in one of the stalls to wait.

After five minutes of standing there doing deep breathing exercises and reading the graffiti that was scribbled on the walls, including an amusing limerick about a lieutenant, he heard the door open. Tensing, he listened; no voices, and only one set of footsteps. This was even better than he'd hoped. He waited until he heard the other occupant turn on the tap to wash his hands, and then he flushed the toilet and left the stall. He stepped up behind the unarmed soldier and watched as the young man glanced up at him in the mirror. He saw the disinterested look change to one of shock and fear just before he brought the butt of his gun down on the back of the soldier's head.

Grinning at his easy success, Trowa quickly hoisted the unconscious body over his shoulder and locked them both in the handicapped stall. Five minutes later, he stepped out of the stall and relocked it from the outside, dressed as an OZ private. After radioing Quatre and Wufei and telling them he didn't need backup after all (he had to override Quatre's protests), he shouldered the gun that was leaning next to the sinks, remembered to wash his hands, and strode out of the bathroom calmly, proceeding down the hallway. This was going to be easy.

* * *

"I hope Trowa's okay," Quatre said for possibly the fifth time as he and Wufei followed Trowa's strange orders to stay put and hid behind their log again, watching the door.

Wufei, who was examining a fingernail, sighed and decided that it was time for this to stop. He turned to Quatre and said, "Do you think he can't do this?"

Quatre's hackles went up immediately. "Of course not!" he hissed as indignantly as possible while trying to be quiet. "He's excellent at infiltration. That's why I told him to do this!"

"Exactly," Wufei said somewhat soothingly, which he knew wasn't his style. "He's perfectly capable of looking after himself and our help would probably only endanger him right now, whatever it is that he's doing. You just have to trust him."

Which was exactly what Quatre had been telling himself for the past hour, but it felt good to hear it from someone else. He blew his bangs out of his face and looked up, studying the moon which was partially visible through the treetops.

Wufei studied Quatre instead, and shook his head. Some things couldn't be helped, and he understood how Quatre felt better than Quatre himself probably imagined.

Fifteen minutes later, a loud bang made Team Beta collectively jump. They scrambled to see what was going on and caught a glimpse of Trowa in an OZ uniform, running full-out with an assault rifle jouncing along on his shoulder. Without a word, they both peeled out after him, running on the road without caring if they were seen. An image popped, unbidden, into Quatre's mind of a t-shirt Duo had worn at the Maganac base: 'Bomb Squad Member: If you see me running, try to keep up'.

Without breaking his stride, Wufei unclipped the radio from his belt. "Team Alpha, we are approaching. Be ready for extraction," he gasped into it. He ran with the radio in his hand after that, half-waiting for an answer and half-not wanting to slow down to put it away, but a response never came. It wasn't really needed.

Even as he ran for his life with no indication of how much time they had, one simple, unrelated thought nagged Quatre's mind as they thundered along the road, seeing Heero and Duo ahead and still in uniform, watching them approach. After their conversation, Quatre had caught the strangest, most bittersweet whiff of _sadness_ coming from Wufei.

* * *

A/N: LinkWorshiper's response to that last line was, 'WTF!' It amused me greatly. All things will resolve themselves in time. Good news: I've been bitten by an inspiration bug again and the story is coming more easily again. This is important to you because it might add up to less than a month between chapters. WHOO-HOO. Also, go check out DB's website on crappy Geocities at http/ www. geocities. com /inversification (remove the spaces). If you didn't know, it's been revamped and fixed up some. Tell a friend. :D Later days. 


	40. Three Cheers for Hormones

A/N: This might be breaking a speed record. Especially considering this is like the longest chapter so far. Wheeeeee.

**Warning:** This chapter contains some mild sexuality. So mild that I will be enraged if this site slaps my wrist for it. But it's hot. Beware. ;)

Disclaimer: I am drinking and listening to techno. My truck died last night a half an hour away from my home when I was going to a party. I can't afford to be sued for my use of an idea that doesn't belong to me. And I'm mentally fragile enough right now to counter-litigate for emotional damages. If only I had the money. What a catch-22. _**cough**_ I don't own Gundam Wing.

* * *

Deadly Beautiful – Chapter 40

_by danse

* * *

_

Noin shielded her eyes from the bright afternoon sun as she dug in her pockets for her sunglasses. She was leaning on the hood of the blue compact car that Pargan had presented her with as Relena's personal shuttle. At first he'd insisted that the limousine was just fine, as status symbols like that weren't unusual among her schoolmates, but Noin had convinced him that a small, nondescript car would be good for outings. Today, she was using it to pick Relena up from school.

It had been eighteen days since Noin had accepted the post as Relena Peacecraft's personal bodyguard, and since then, a routine had developed. Noin would take her to school in the morning, either riding in the limo or driving the car, and then pick her up at the end of the day. On Tuesdays and Thursdays, when Relena had tennis club in the afternoons, Noin would watch from the bleachers. She carried a handgun in an ankle holster at all times and was rarely without her sunglasses, even though she dressed in street clothes (she'd had to restock her civilian wardrobe somewhat since arriving in Liechtenstein). On weekends, the two young women would go sightseeing or shopping, and if Relena had made any friends who she wanted to spend time with at this point, Noin would have acted as an escort on their outings.

Unfortunately, this wasn't yet the case.

Despite three weeks of regular classes with her schoolmates, along with her extra German classes, the tennis club, and the tutoring she'd begun in English during lunch on Wednesdays, Relena hadn't shown any evidence of forming closer bonds with any of the girls she attended school with. Noin could only remember specifically one instance where their existence had even been acknowledged outside of school, when Relena had come home growling unintelligibly about some girl named Dorothy. Noin had observed that Dorothy was also in the tennis club, and had seen them talking occasionally but not acting particularly warm to each other. Dorothy struck Noin as a pretentious oddball, but it was hard to say she disliked the girl. She just seemed like someone worth looking out for.

Noin looked up at the front door of the Friedenskraft-Sank school as it opened to release crowds of young women in identical uniforms, and smiled at Relena as she approached the car. Just as she pushed herself off of the hood to walk around to the driver's side, her pager went off. She clapped a hand over it, frowning. Two people had the number. One of them was Pargan, and he rarely felt a need to page Noin, unless she and Relena were on one of their long expeditions into European culture. She glanced at the LCD screen discreetly. _As I thought,_ she sighed to herself. She clipped the pager back to her belt, and must have still been frowning because Relena walked right up to her, looking concerned.

"Is something wrong, Noin?" her charge asked. "You look upset or something."

_'Or something' is right,_ Noin thought. "It's nothing. You ready to go?" she asked, putting on a smile.

Relena nodded and opened the passenger door, shooting Noin one last concerned look as she got in before letting it go.

Noin got in and started the car, backing up out of her parking spot and turning onto the street to go home. She could get away when Relena got settled in with her homework and be back in time for dinner.

_Nearly three weeks without a single word... I'm gonna have some things to say to you, Zechs.

* * *

_

He was waiting where his message had indicated: in the same park, on the same bench they'd been sitting on when he'd gotten her promise to look after Relena. She hung back for a minute before he saw her, observing him as he watched the ducks on the pond; his long, silvery hair was pulled back into a neat ponytail, and he wore a blue, button-down shirt and worn-looking jeans. His arm was stretched out along the back of the bench, a folded newspaper on the seat beside him. She cursed him silently; he still looked as irresistible as ever.

Composing herself and running her fingers through her bangs, Noin casually strolled up to him. "Nice day to watch the ducks," she said as she moved the newspaper and sat down next to him. She tried not to react as he straightened and removed his arm from the back of the bench and from behind her shoulders.

He leaned forward instead, looking at his hands in his lap. "So how is she?" he asked.

Noin hadn't bothered to expect any comment on her own wellbeing to precede this, so at least it didn't upset her. "She's doing fine," she answered softly, looking out across the pond at a couple on the other side that was walking along hand-in-hand. "No threats, no real problems in school; she's adjusting well."

He let out a held breath. "That's good," he said with feeling. "That's better than I'd hoped for."

"But..."

He looked at her then, his icy eyes meeting hers for the first time. "But?" She could see the worry resurfacing.

Noin cleared her throat. "She doesn't have any friends yet. Except perhaps for this one... Dorothy Catalonia, I think her name is."

"_Catalonia!_" Zechs exclaimed.

Noin looked at him in alarm.

"It's... nothing. Nothing. I just... know the name, that's all. It's not a big deal." He was blushing a little now, regretting his outburst.

"There's something else, too," Noin said. "Pargan knows that you're still alive." She looked down at her shoes. "I had to tell him; there was no other way to win his trust. He doesn't know your alias though."

Zechs put a hand on her shoulder, and Noin felt an involuntary thrill go through her. "It's alright, Noin. I trust you not to tell the wrong people, and I trust Pargan." He slid his arm back around her shoulder absently, relaxing against the bench as he looked back out at the pond. "So things are going alright for you too, then," he said quietly.

Her eyes widened in surprise. "Um, yeah, I guess they are. I like Relena; she's going to be a fine person. My job isn't hard; I like it here. It's good," she finished. "How are things back at OZ?" she asked finally.

"Treize is having some problems lately," Zechs answered. "Terrorism or something, I'm not privy to all of it. There's some definite sabotage going on though, and he's starting to think there's a mole in the organization now. I went to inspect a base in the Former Soviet Union and it blew up before I left. When I got back to headquarters, though, I got promoted."

Noin's thoughts of her experiences on the night the South African base was destroyed were shocked from her head. "A _promotion_?" she squeaked.

"I'm a Lieutenant-Colonel now," Zechs confirmed.

She couldn't have said why, but Noin felt cold all of a sudden. She stiffened and leaned away from his touch a little. _He outranks me now. After all that time... After all I've done for him, I'm _here_, sitting on a park bench in a foreign country._ "Well, _sir,_ I'd better be going," she said a little icily. "Your sister, the princess, awaits." She got up and turned to leave, catching a glimpse of his face as she moved. He looked kind of hurt. There was a brief window where Noin could have turned back to him, laughing, and it would have been a joke, but she took a step away, and it vanished.

She felt sorry to walk away and leave him, the love of her life, like that, but not quite sorry enough to do anything about it except continue. After all that, there had been nothing for her to say about the past three weeks of wondering what had happened to him. She was getting tired of fighting the battles for other people. Her stomach growled; it was time for dinner at the Friedenskraft mansion.

* * *

Treize Kushrenada dropped yet another report back on his desk, throwing his arms behind his head and reclining in his chair as he glared at the ceiling. This time it had been Argentina's Leo base, and there had been a handful of survivors: the lieutenant and three privates who had been on duty in the watchtower when the explosion had occurred. Rubble had embedded itself in the supports of the tower, but the thing itself had stayed intact. Another accident report. 

_South Africa. Algeria. Georgia. Now Argentina. And the assassination of Dekim's son at that summit. Three of the reports were able to describe teenage boys as being the perpetrators._ Treize sat upright slowly, staring at nothing and feeling very tired. He hadn't risen this far in the military without a good head for the 'what if'. Something had to be done before everything OZ and Romefeller were working toward hit the fan.

He pressed the button on his desk intercom. "Theresa, please summon Lady Une to my office," he said.

* * *

After leaving Argentina, the boys went back to Quatre's as a group to recuperate a little before going their separate ways again. After standing in some thick brush at the bottom of the mountain to change into the extra civilian clothes they'd all brought along, they'd all stood over the pile of dirty OZ uniforms on the ground and deliberated over whether to leave them. Finally, reminding themselves of their track record while infiltrating bases and assuming costumes, it was decided that they should keep the OZ uniforms they'd collected on this mission, find more in the future that fit, and start a sort of costume wardrobe. 

After arriving at Quatre's and throwing the uniforms into the laundry, the five of them took over a large, unoccupied sitting room, spread out enough glue and pens and scissors on the coffee table to make it look like Arts and Crafts Hour, and set about doctoring the OZ identification cards they'd commandeered along with the uniforms, altering the pictures and cutting and pasting more appropriate information on the cards. Duo happily made himself into a lieutenant over the course of an hour, having found a uniform at the base with badges on the sleeve.

"This'll do for now," Quatre said. "We should all go get some photo booth pictures soon though so we can fix them up better and laminate them properly."

A little later, Duo stumbled tiredly down the hall to his bedroom. He grinned and then yawned as he shut the door behind him, looking longingly at the bed in the room he'd been given. He'd been happy to realize that it was the same room he'd stayed in the last time he was here. Stripping down to his boxers, he fell into bed and was asleep almost instantly. Snuggling his pillow, he started to dream...

* * *

He was standing on a dark street corner, and it was wet like there had just been a downpour. Hearing a noise from his left, Duo turned and saw a figure hidden beneath a trench coat running away. He was compelled to chase after it. The person turned just slightly to look at him as they ran, and he tried to see the face but it was shadowed. An eerie laugh drifted back to him as he watched it duck into an alley and took off after it. 

Soon it was a high-speed game of tag through an impossible maze of alleyways, and Duo was It. He would put on a burst of speed and gain on the trench coat, only to miss when he grabbed at it and fall behind as the mystery person disappeared around a corner. He was getting frustrated. He wanted to catch this being who never showed its face and always stayed a step ahead. The feeling sharpened into a constant, never-ending prick of desire in his gut as he ran. He had to catch it. He would catch it and he would pin it and he would see what was under that trench coat that was eluding him so easily, taunting him with every step.

He chased it around a corner, lost it once more, and then ducked into a shadowed alleyway just in time to see a door in front of him closing. He surged toward it, watching his hand leap out in front of him, and caught the doorknob, nearly ripping the door from its hinges as he slid to a stop in the threshold.

It was dark and quiet, with soft shadows. He heard a soft voice calling his name, and followed a sweet, alluring scent across an empty room and through a doorway. Predatory now, he crept into the small, warm bedroom and saw the person in the trench coat, whose back was turned as soft hands pulled off wet gloves. Now the hands reached up to the collar to pull off the sodden coat, but Duo was going to claim his prize. He slipped silently across the room, closing the distance between himself and the mystery person, and slowly pulled down the coat from behind, watching the muscles relax as the delicate arms dropped to let it slide off and land forgotten on the floor.

Duo stepped forward, wrapping a strong arm around the narrow waist in front of him and inhaling the smell of his prize, the smell of rain and musk and sweat. He rubbed his lips along the place where slender neck met exquisite shoulder, kissed and licked it as he listened to the Other's breathing quicken, soft sighs that reminded him somehow of rain on the roof. Closing his eyes and going by touch alone, Duo worked his way around to the front of the neck, placing light, nibbling kisses along the collarbone and letting his hands explore. Unnecessary clothes disappeared, and suddenly they were on the bed, and Duo's desire was so great, it was practically another being itself, and he opened his eyes to see the face of his prize, lying underneath him with lust-glazed eyes.

It was _Heero_.

* * *

He woke up sweating and shaking. It was too cold—no, too _warm_ in his room. Where was he? He was at Quatre's secret Maganac base. Heero's room was probably down the hall... _Shut up brain!_ he growled to himself, holding a quivering hand to his forehead. What was this? Was he going crazy? He didn't like _guys;_ he was _straight_. Hell, he ogled women all the time. He had a hot girl living in his apartment right now... And she had for the past couple of months, and she slept on the couch. _Jesus, Duo!_ He was clearly off his rocker. He'd heard that it happened sometimes to agents who had spent too many years in the field, who had seen or experienced something really traumatic. Surely something he'd done counted as traumatic enough to make him snap. 

He looked at the clock. It was shortly after four in the morning. He was still exhausted. He sat by the window for the rest of the night and watched the sun come up, not trusting himself to sleep anymore.

* * *

Trowa and Quatre were alone for the moment, waiting for everyone else to get up and make it to the cafeteria, where they'd agreed to meet in the morning. They both sat nursing coffee and poking at their cereal in silence. Quatre's mind was racing though. Finally he set down his spoon, trying to think of a way to start the conversation. He looked up at Trowa, who was studying him expectantly, his green gaze calm. "So, um," Quatre said lamely, "when... when do you think you're gonna go back to Catherine?" 

Trowa raised his eyebrows. "Why? Do you want me to go?" he asked, sounding bemused.

"No! No. You can stay as long as you want. But," he said contemplatively, "she's your sister, and you think she's in danger. You're not going to want to stay away from her too long, are you?"

Trowa took a bite of cereal. "Well, you have a point there, and I have been considering it," he said. "But Catherine isn't defenseless, and she's safe as far as I know. Besides, I have some stuff to share with the group when they get here."

"Like what?" Quatre asked, perking up.

Trowa shook his head. "I'll wait till everyone's together."

"Oh. Okay." Quatre stirred his cereal around and around, not really hungry. "Was it something from Argentina?" he asked, working his way around to his point.

Trowa grunted affirmatively around his coffee cup.

"You know..." The Arabian boy said, stretching his fingers out in front of him, "you freaked me out pretty bad when you called off Wufei and me that night."

"I know I did," Trowa said, "but it was under control. Bringing in you two at that point would only have endangered all three of us."

"That didn't make me any less nervous," Quatre said, feeling bolder as he spoke. "I thought you were gonna get killed, Tro."

Trowa raised an eyebrow. "You were that worried about me?" he asked, looking surprised.

"Trowa," Quatre said flatly. "I care about you."

There, it was said. Quatre sat back and waited to see how it would go over.

Trowa locked eyes with Quatre, feeling his steady aquamarine gaze go straight through, and couldn't move. He fought to set down his cup. He wondered how it could be that he was simultaneously surprised that things had come to this and relieved that Quatre had finally put it out in the air. As he was trying to make his lips form words, Duo walked up to the table carrying a cup of coffee and looking like shit, completely killing the conversation.

"Hi Duo," they both said at once, too happy to see him.

Duo made some kind of noise, slugged back some coffee, and winced as he set the cup down. Wufei appeared a minute later with waffles and Heero directly after that with a bowl of fruit salad. Heero took the empty chair between Quatre and Wufei, seated directly across from Duo. Duo looked briefly like he was going to be ill and promptly averted his eyes from the slowly munching Heero, looking at the handle of his coffee cup.

After the quiet and oddly tense breakfast was finished, Trowa started the meeting. "You all know I went into the base alone the other night, and I was in disguise. I was supposed to just set the bomb and leave," he looked a little guilty, "but on my way to do that, I stumbled across something great." He reached into his back pocket and pulled out a folded piece of paper, spreading it out on the table. "I found this in the unoccupied office of the Leo base's commanding officer," he explained.

Heero grabbed the page and spun it around so that he could read it. He raised an eyebrow. "This is an invitation to a formal dinner next week," he said.

"A Romefeller party," Trowa said triumphantly.

Heero looked up at Trowa then, his eyes glittering with the possibilities. "We could kill all of Romefeller's—and probably OZ's—big-shots in one fell swoop," he said, sounding slightly awed. "That would stop all of this."

Quatre was studying the invitation, as well. "Or we could collect intelligence," he said.

Heero thought about it. "This is true. We'd be naïve to expect that they wouldn't be nervous about the destruction of, what, four bases in the past three months? Security will probably be stepped-up," he said. "Maybe it would be better to collect information. Or we could organize one hit on one person."

"But which one?" Quatre asked.

Wufei spoke up. "I can think of a good one," he said quietly. "Treize Kushrenada."

The name didn't mean much to the others.

Quatre was still examining the invitation. "This is good-quality stock," he said. "It's monogrammed, too."

Trowa stretched. "It's probably one of those ones where you have to show it to get in," he said. "Shame I folded it. Did that when I extracted it without realizing."

"Shouldn't be a big deal," Quatre said. "Luckily, there's no name on here, so no one should have to assume any identities." He held up the card. "Plus one," he grinned.

"We should put that aside for a bit at the moment," Heero said. "In the meantime, where do we go from here as a group?" he asked, voicing the unspoken question.

Quatre frowned. "Why can't we keep working together?" he said. "It's working for us so far. I mean, that last mission worked fantastically. We couldn't have done that alone, any of us."

Wufei examined his butter knife, keeping stubbornly quiet.

Duo stretched, fixing his gaze on Quatre who was beside him. "I think I've pretty much quit G's organization by now," he said. "I can't see how I can continue to work there and do the things I've done for him when I know that you guys are out here, fighting the good fight. I sleep better," he sighed. _Mostly._

Quatre looked surprised but pleased. "What are you going to do now, then, Duo?"

"I don't know. I need to call Hilde," he grumped.

"Who's Hilde?" Heero asked, sipping from a glass of water.

Duo blushed unexpectedly. "She, uh, she's my roommate," he stuttered.

Trowa grinned lecherously. "You dog, you," he laughed.

"It's not like that!" Duo said. "But she sleeps on my couch and she works for G too. And I... kinda had to tell her about you guys, it's a long story," he said, scratching the back of his head self-consciously. "Shewantstomeetyounow," he muttered.

Wufei raised his eyebrows, having been the only one who understood Duo's last sentence. "Meet us? Well, why isn't she here, if she's single?" he grinned.

Duo turned a deeper shade of red, and it spread to his ears.

Quatre started feeling sorry for Duo. "You can use a secure line from here and call her. If you want to stay here a while longer, that's fine." He paused for a second, looking hard at Duo. "And if she wants to come visit here, that can also be arranged."

Duo suddenly relaxed as if every problem he had had just been solved. "Thanks, Q," he grinned. "I'll go find that phone now, if that's okay."

Quatre got up to go with him, but he'd barely reached the door when a hand on his arm stopped him. He turned; it was Trowa. Just seeing the look in his eyes, Quatre called to Duo. After giving him directions to the closest secure phone, he let Trowa lead him down a different hallway until they were standing in a somewhat secluded garden.

"So?" Quatre asked once they were seated on a stone bench, under a palm tree.

Trowa was just staring at him, chewing his lip.

Quatre gave him a funny look as he tried to feel Trowa's thoughts on the air. He felt nothing.

Trowa started cracking his knuckles, one by one, making them pop loudly as he still chewed his lip, never moving his gaze from Quatre's. Finally, he looked down. "I..." He sighed and looked up again. "I'm sorry, Quatre."

Quatre's heart turned to stone and shattered in an instant. He listened, his hands clenching into fists in his lap.

Trowa looked like he had just been asked to swallow a hedgehog. "If it was going to be anyone, Quatre, I think it would be you. But I'm sorry."

Quatre gave his friend a cool look. "It's not me, it's you, right?" He raised his eyebrow, feeling hurt. "If only I was female..."

Trowa's eyes went very wide. He raised his hands in front of him, waving them back and forth as he shook his head. "No, no, no! It's not like that!"

But unfortunately for Trowa, Quatre could taste guilt on the air. "You're lying," he said softly. "I know you are. But I can't force you to do anything." He folded his hands in his lap again, studying them. "How do you think _I_ feel about all of this, Trowa? I'm _Muslim._ I'm religious. My feelings for you go against my _belief system_, and still, there they are." He gave Trowa a searching look. "What's your excuse?" he said.

Having nothing else to say, and hating the scent of sadness, hurt, and guilt coming from his teammate as the silence hung and grew thick, Quatre stood up and left the peaceful garden without another word.

Wufei saw him coming back inside the building with his hand over his mouth, and gave the garden door a pointed look as he walked past.

* * *

Duo listened to his home phone ring, not expecting it to be picked up. He looked at his watch; it was the middle of the night at home. Just as he was about to hang up, a sleepy female voice answered. "H'lo? Whozzis?" 

"Hey, Hilde, it's Duo," he said.

"Oh. Oh, hey. Where are you?"

"I'm with my team right now," he answered. "We're in the Middle East."

"Where in the Middle East? And how long are you going to be there?" Hilde sounded alert now, snapping the questions at him.

"Um, somewhere in Saudi Arabia," he answered. "I'm not really sure where. And I don't know how long I'm staying, either."

"Well, it's going to be at least another few days," she said authoritatively. "I have to go to Lebanon for G, and then I'm coming to see you. I'll leave the arrangements from there up to you and the people you're with." She gave him a contact number that sounded like a cell phone. "Now goodbye, I leave tomorrow and I need to sleep," she said, hanging up before he could get a word in edgewise.

_Well, I guess that solved a problem or two_, Duo thought as he hung up the phone. He was feeling nervous about it already.

* * *

A/N: I think you should leave me a comment on these events. And what you think of the way they're starting to play out. It's moving pretty fast now, after starting off slow. I'm excited. And LinkWorshiper promised me sexy wet-dream fanart! _**glee**_


	41. The Extent of Duo's Loyalty

A/N: Short, sweet, transitional, and punctual. Point for me.

Disclaimer: I don't own them?

* * *

Deadly Beautiful - Chapter 41

_by danse

* * *

_

In the past three days, a strange tension had arisen between the five young men hiding out at the Saudi Maganac headquarters. Trowa and Quatre appeared not to be talking to each other, and Heero noticed that Duo was suddenly avoiding him like the plague. Even though Heero had wanted that very thing to happen ever since he'd met Duo, it was disconcerting to see it come out of nowhere. Wufei looked characteristically smug as usual, but Heero had noticed that he appeared to be acting a little nicer to Quatre than usual. It was all quite odd.

And now, with Duo's friend set to arrive by jeep that afternoon, the boys were having a quick meeting before she showed up to get the issue of the Romefeller dinner invitation out of the way. It was a fairly stagnant conversation, all things considered. Heero played absently with a pen as the meeting dragged into its second half-hour.

"I can't see how we're gonna be able to send two guys though," Duo said heatedly. "Seriously, Wufei, it's a dinner party. It'll look a little sketchy if two guys in dinner jackets show up on each others' arms packing Glocks."

Heero snorted.

Wufei glowered at them both. "You're trying to tell me that you want to not only _find_, but _endanger_ a woman by taking her into the lions' den!" He looked enraged at the very idea.

Duo shot him a calculating look. "Hilde's coming; we can send _her_."

Everyone looked up at him in surprise. "You're volunteering her without her knowledge then?" Trowa asked. "I don't know her, but I can't see how you'll get off without bruises at least, going by your description of her personality."

"She can do it," Duo insisted. "She's had agent training and she can defend herself. She's smart, too, and she's readily available. Or she will be."

"Can she defend herself against you, Duo?" Wufei asked, giving him a level look.

Duo squirmed. "She can put up a fight. I think she can take just about anyone else."

"Can she take _anyone _sitting in this room?" Wufei persisted.

Duo looked around slowly, and said nothing.

"We have to assume, Duo, that in addition to the security we know will be there, some of the attendees themselves are going to be heavy hitters. A lot of them didn't get to the positions they're in without being capable fighters, and they aren't underpaid privates, thrown out there as cannon fodder. Hilde isn't the same calibre as us, and she could become a liability in the field, especially in a situation like this," Wufei said coldly.

Heero thought that if Wufei had spoken to _him _in that condescending tone of voice, he would have knocked out a few teeth. He kept playing with his pen, looking around at the others' faces. Quatre had a pensive expression; he was clearly deep in thought. Heero waited, looking at him.

Finally, Quatre deemed it time to open his mouth. He was pinning Duo and Wufei with a very interesting look as he related his thoughts. "You know, we don't _necessarily_ have to send in two guys in dinner jackets," he said. "I think some of us are qualified to go incognito."

It took Wufei and Duo approximately the same amount of time to blush and reach unconsciously for their longer-than-normal hair. Both were bristling. Wufei opened his mouth, but was shushed by a look from the normally calm Quatre. He was in Tactical Mode. Heero thought the idea had some merit, but he waited a little longer.

"Heero," Quatre finally said, "I think you and Duo should do this."

Duo turned red and then white and then a little green. "_What?_" he exclaimed, shooting out of his seat to loom over Quatre. Heero had gone wide-eyed and clutched the arms of his chair, but couldn't believe how much Duo was rebelling against the plan. _But then again,_ Heero reasoned, _I'm not the one being asked to cross-dress._

Quatre regarded him calmly, still in Tactical Mode and completely unflappable. "You two make an excellent team, and I think that you are the most capable of carrying out this operation to satisfaction." He ignored Duo, who was looking ready to choke him, to catch Heero's gaze.

Heero nodded his assent. "Sounds reasonable to me," he said emotionlessly. He wasn't about to undermine Quatre's typically excellent judgement. He watched with interest then as the entire group relaxed with his decree. Even Duo slumped back into his chair, looking defeated.

That settled, it was time to tease Duo.

"You know, Maxwell, I bet your hair would look real pretty in an up-do, instead of that ratty old braid," Wufei grinned. "Maybe you should try a bun or pigtails sometime."

Duo gave him the finger.

Quatre laughed quietly. "Don't worry, Duo, I'm sure my sister, Iria, can help you pretty yourself up enough to pass for female. You might fit a dress of hers if we pad the top or something."

Duo got up and left the room. As soon as the curtain swished into place, the others burst out into hoots of laughter; his disgust was hilarious.

* * *

Hilde's arrival later that afternoon was a bit of an event. Rashid preceded her, carrying her suitcase, while she followed behind, protesting that she wasn't fragile and she could carry it herself, thank you very much. Wufei raised an eyebrow upon hearing her discourse.

When she walked inside, blinking from the sudden shade, Wufei caught a glimpse of a slight thing with short, dark hair before she was a blur, tackling Duo. They both laughed, grappling each other as they tried not to fall over, teetering around the entranceway.

"Hilde, I wasn't gone that long," Duo said.

"I was worried you were gonna kill yourself, you twit," she retorted. "Glad to see you're still in one piece."

With that, she was introduced to the group of boys and Iria Winner, who had been collectively standing around in the entranceway ever since Rashid had radioed in that they were arriving at the front. Wufei saw that she met his eyes fearlessly and had a firm handshake. He smiled despite himself. Another strong one, it looked like. He still stood by what he'd said about liability earlier, though.

Naturally, once her bag was stowed in her temporary room and the whole group was spread around a group of benches and chairs in a small garden (a different one from the one that Quatre and Trowa had recently occupied, thankfully), it didn't take long for Duo's current predicament to come out once more, for both Hilde's and Iria's delight and amusement.

"You're gonna be a _girl_?" Hilde blurted out, giving Duo a look of wide-eyed wonder. "And I get to _see _it?" She covered her face and sniffed loudly. "This is the best day of my life..."

Duo told her concisely where she could go and what she could do when she got there.

Iria blushed, not really used to that kind of language. "You know though, Duo," she said tentatively, not wanting to incur his wrath herself, "it's a very heroic thing... sacrificing your dignity and such for the good of the team." She smiled. "Hilde and I look forward to helping you with your disguise. Don't worry, we'll be able to transform you very well, I think."

Hilde leaned forward and patted his knee reassuringly. "You're gonna be the hottest chick in the room, Duo," she grinned.

He scowled some more.

* * *

A/N: What fanfiction would be complete without one of them cross-dressing? I'm enjoying myself a little too much writing the next part. Please leave a comment; I love them and it encourages me when I know people are reading and thinking about the story. Author, ergo narcissist. :D 


	42. Operation Lola

A/N: Anyone who understands the significance of the number 42 (and also how my brain works) will understand that this is a significant chapter. Everyone else gets one warning. Onwards. Oh, and if you've never heard Lola, by The Kinks (really good/funny song), I suggest giving it a listen either before, after, or during the reading of this chapter. You will understand so much more! But not about 42. That's different.

Disclaimer: I don't own them?

* * *

Deadly Beautiful – Chapter 42

_by danse

* * *

_

None of the Maganacs or their guests got any peace or quiet on the afternoon of July 6th. It was the day before the Romefeller, Inc. dinner party, and Hilde and Iria were starting their own mission: Operation Lola, as it had been dubbed. Duo, while doing his best to see the silver lining, had joked, "You know, this whole cross-dressing business keeps getting that song by The Kinks stuck in my head. 'I asked her her name and in a backroom voice she said Lola, L-O-L-A, Lola-a-a-a...'" he'd crooned. Unfortunately for him, the name had stuck, and now his codename was Lola.

The first and most important step, the girls had decided, was to get rid of all the unnecessary body hair. Luckily, Duo was young and not overly hairy to begin with, but that didn't save him much. His tortured screams could be heard in every corner of the compound as they subjected him to a complete leg and arm waxing.

While they left him to recover from that, Hilde and Iria, bubbly as schoolgirls, bounced to Iria's room to raid her closet. After going through her small collection of eveningwear, they had to dismiss it all as either logistically impossible (they'd rigged Duo a stuffed bra that, while it turned him into a respectable B-cup, required shoulder straps), inappropriate for the setting, or too wrinkled.

Hilde frowned. "This is no good. Even if I had anything to wear to this, I didn't bring it with me, that's for sure. If I'd known, I could have gone shopping before I came!" she wailed.

Iria collapsed on the bed among her dresses, rubbing her eyes as she thought. "Wait," she said suddenly, freezing. She sat bolt upright, wearing an excited grin. "I have twenty-eight sisters--what was I _thinking_?" She stood up and started to pace. "Granted, I do not keep in touch with half of them, but that is still more than poor Quatre. I am sure that Jazira owes me a favour, and one of hers would..."

Hilde watched in some confusion, a hopeful look on her face. She had no idea what Iria was mumbling about, as she was completely unacquainted with the Winner family situation, but she suspected that their problem was about to be solved. Beckoning for Hilde to come with her, Iria left the room and ran for a phone. Hilde followed, still a bit confused.

While Iria found a phone in a conference room in an adjoining hallway, dialled her sister and proceeded to chatter in Arabic for ten minutes, Hilde wandered up and down the corridor with her hands stuffed in her pockets, staring at her feet and letting her thoughts wander. _I can't believe I'm helping my crush dress up as a woman. This is so awkward. And yet fun._ _He's going along with it so easily, though. It's not really right. _Then again, she reasoned that Duo seemed to act around his friends as if he had something to prove. He was strange like that.

Finally, Iria hung up the phone and walked back into the hallway. Hilde looked up; Iria was smiling with satisfaction.

"Jazira is going to lend me the perfect dress. She is almost the same size as me, so it should fit Duo as well as one of mine. Unfortunately, she lives in Al Hillah, which is a couple of hours' drive at best." She glanced at her watch. "It is two o'clock now, so if I leave right away, I can be back around six." She smiled at Hilde. "I think that it is worth it for this endeavour of Quatre and his friends. While I am gone, why don't you work on his nails? I do not think he will moan _too_ much about it, not after that waxing." Iria led them back to her room and started rooting through a drawer, finally extracting a bottle of dark blue nail polish. "I know the dress that Jazira is lending me, and this will go with it nicely. Have fun, Hilde!" she grinned, before taking off to go beg some jeep keys from Rashid.

Hilde looked at the nail polish, sighed, and then set off to find Duo with a grin. He should have been finished whimpering by now. Hopefully he wasn't hiding.

* * *

Iria got back at twenty minutes after six, carrying a dry-cleaning bag. Hilde had just finished carefully trimming the split ends from Duo's hair, taking about two inches off of the bottom, and brushing his hair until it was tangle-free. As Iria burst into his bedroom, he was busy gathering his hair into a ponytail to keep it out of the way. 

"Victory!" Iria cried, holding the garment bag out in front of her like a trophy.

Hilde looked gleeful as she sprang up from the bed and ran over to look at the dress. "Oh Iria, this dress is gorgeous! It'll be just right!"

Duo sighed, studying both of them as they briefly ignored his presence. Finally, he got up to examine his new eveningwear himself. "Nice colour," he observed. He felt the fabric. "Feels nice."

"I am glad you like it, Duo," Iria said, "because it was a real pain to get, and you will wear it if it kills us all."

Duo winced. "Okay," he huffed. "I guess I gotta try it on now, right?"

Hilde nodded. "Strip down to your underwear and we'll get you outfitted."

Grudgingly, Duo obeyed, and was shortly standing self-consciously in his monkey-print boxers... in front of two attractive young women, chewing his lip furiously to 'keep the bitching to a minimum', as Hilde had so eloquently put it, as they wrestled him into his padded bra. Growling, Hilde grabbed a pen from the table nearby and attacked his hair, winding it all up into a sloppy, makeshift bun and securing it with the pen. "I had long hair when I was younger," she said. "This was one of my favourite quick-fixes. Sorry, Duo, it's gonna get in the way otherwise, and I don't wanna braid it again."

Iria was frowning, her chin propped on her fingers as she studied Duo's mid-section with a shameless intensity that made him blush. "Do you have any other underwear?" she asked. "Boxers will not work with this dress. They will show through."

Duo stammered, not knowing what to say to such a personal question. "I–um–well... let me check?" He turned to his bag, sifting through it slowly.

Dumbfounded by his sudden, inexplicable shyness, Hilde brushed him aside to search his bag herself. "It's cool, Duo," she said when he looked about to protest. "No one cares. We won't tell anyone." She smiled.

A little more digging on her part turned up what Duo had dreaded her finding. "Well," Hilde managed, her lips twitching as she tried to suppress her laughter. "I guess this will be sufficient. We'll just give you a little privacy to put them on, hmmm?" She winked.

Duo turned scarlet and grabbed the thong away from her, giving both girls a death glare that sent them into the hallway quickly. The door did nothing to mask the peals of laughter that started on the other side. Growling as he changed his underwear, Duo pulled on the dress immediately after so that they wouldn't see anything he would regret.

"Is it safe to come back in?" Iria asked through the door.

"...Yes." Duo was mortified by everything that had happened to him so far that day.

The dress had a high collar, not unlike a mock turtleneck, and was sleeveless. It was floor-length and satiny, and the colour was the same as the nail polish that Hilde had already expertly applied to Duo's nails. The rich blue was shot through with silvery threads so that it sparkled where they caught the light. Duo fidgeted while Hilde zipped it up in the back, and then the girls stood back to survey their work so far.

The collar covered Duo's Adam's apple, and there was no fear of any of his underwear showing. His 'breasts' looked realistic under the fabric, except for a lack of natural movement that hopefully wouldn't be noticed. Unfortunately, although Jazira's body wasn't very curvy, and therefore the dress had straight lines, Duo didn't have quite enough hip to fill out the middle of it properly. Also, Iria had forgotten that the dress was slit on one side halfway up the thigh. "It is a good thing that we waxed your legs, Duo," she said, kneeling to examine the skirt. "I was thinking that this dress was an A-line." Duo had no idea what an A-line was. "You are going to have to wear pantyhose."

Duo looked down at his exposed leg. "What's wrong with my leg?" he demanded. "I have a bit of a tan. There's no hair."

Iria sighed. "You cannot attend a formal event with bare legs. It is a no-no." Bracing her hands on her thighs, she stood up slowly. "You are not much taller than me; I might have some that will work." She left his room to go down the hall to her own. Hilde followed, dragging Duo behind her, although he was still in the dress and might have been seen by anyone happening by.

Iria already had a drawer open in her dresser and was looking through it. "Do you think black or nude, Hilde?" she asked.

Duo stared.

Hilde looked him up and down. "For a dinner party? Is there going to be dancing?"

Iria frowned. "I don't think so..."

"In that case, nude," Hilde said. "Black would be better for dancing."

Iria smiled at her in total agreement and then threw an unopened package of skin-coloured nylons at Duo. "Put those on, Duo," she commanded.

He groaned, but he ripped open the plastic obediently. At least he wasn't going to have to dance while dressed as a woman. He didn't know what he'd do if it came to that.

* * *

Heero glanced at his watch and then looked back at his crossword. He was ready to go and his suit was starting to stifle him in the dry, desert heat. It was the morning of July 7th, just before noon, and wheels-up was scheduled for twelve-thirty. 

He and Duo would be leaving via helicopter at that time for a rendezvous on the outskirts of Paris, where a Maganac contact already in place would receive them and lend them transportation. Heero was driving, against Duo's protests. They expected to be at the party by six-thirty, and they were expected to collect intelligence on OZ and Romefeller, mostly.

Trowa had suggested that if they had a good chance, the proposed hit should be on Dekim Barton, one of the most important men in the Romefeller corporation. Wufei had protested this heartily, but was overridden four to one and had to keep his thoughts to himself. So the hit was on Dekim Barton, and they were leaving now in a little over twenty-five minutes, and Duo _still_ wasn't ready yet. _Did they convert his brain into a woman's, too?_ he thought sarcastically, just as the curtain to the room he was waiting in was pushed aside.

Iria came first, followed by Hilde, who was dragging someone by the hand. When all three of them were in the room, Heero just stared, at a loss for anything else to do.

Duo looked pretty good, for a twenty-four-hour transsexual conversion. His dress suited him, and although Heero could tell that the fit wasn't great around the middle, he didn't think anyone would notice. Duo's slender, muscular arms didn't look too butch for the costume. He was holding some long, silky-looking, white gloves in one hand. Heero saw that his fingernails were painted and that he was wearing white high heels that peeped out from under the skirt.

His hair and makeup were what made it, though. Blush tinted his high cheekbones, frosty, light blue eyeshadow was visible behind his mascara-ed eyelashes, and from the look of it, he was wearing a light coat of caramel-coloured lipstick. Thin ringlets of curled hair fell on either side of his face around feathered bangs, and the rest was coiled neatly into a mature-looking up-do behind his head. His light brown hair shone with natural, auburn highlights that no one had ever known were there. The girls had even added clip-on earrings and some bracelets and rings to complete his outfit.

Heero stood up, walked over to Duo, and inspected him more closely. "Did they pluck your eyebrows?" he asked wonderingly.

"Yes," Duo snapped, glowering at him and turning a furious red.

"What do you think?" Hilde asked Heero proudly, elbowing Duo.

Heero pursed his lips and nodded, his eyebrows raised in a face of surprised approval. "He looks like a girl," he answered.

"That's all you got for me?" Duo snipped, looking kind of annoyed.

Heero offered an arm jokingly. "If I was a high-school jock at prom, I'd be getting slapped right now," he said.

"I'd just knee you in the balls," Duo assured him.

Heero lowered his arm.

"Now boys, play nice," Hilde said, slipping between them to face Duo. "Here's your shawl and your bag," she said, giving him both items. "You've got lipstick in there to touch up after dinner, and _you will need to do that._ Just say you're going to powder your nose, that's the normal excuse. And do your best not to mess up any of the rest of your makeup, because you probably won't be able to fix it yourself. Alright?" She gave him a hug. "Be careful, guys."

Iria came forward to give Duo a hug, too. "You'll fool them all," she said happily. "Good luck."

And with that, Duo and Heero left the building to go meet their helicopter.

* * *

"_Fuck_, it's messing up my hair!" Duo yelled, putting his gloved hands to his head as he scurried out of and away from the helicopter, nearly tripping in his heels as he tried to protect his hairdo from the breeze of the whirling blades. Heero followed at a more sedate pace, chuckling. 

He caught up to Duo at the car they were going to take: a shiny, silver BMW. Duo was smoothing his hair out, looking severely inconvenienced by life in general. Heero opened the door for him and was ignored as Duo crawled inside, awkwardly smoothing his dress underneath him. Heero got in on the driver's side and started it, loving the smooth purr of money under the hood. He backed out of their parking spot silently as Duo rearranged himself in the seat and put on his seatbelt.

"So," Heero said, turning onto the road that would take them into Paris. "How does it feel to be a woman?"

Duo leaned back into the seat and closed his eyes. He wanted to rub them but knew better. "I have a lot more respect for what they go through to look good," he sighed. "The mascara was evil, and so was all the hair removal. And this bra feels like murder! It itches." He rubbed his back against the seat as he spoke.

Heero grinned, glancing behind him as he changed lanes. "So our story," he prompted.

"I've been thinking about it," Duo replied. "My name, I guess, is Lola, or at least I'm already getting used to being called that." He scowled. "I have laryngitis, so I refrain from speaking above a whisper."

"Can you manage a girly whisper?" Heero asked cheerfully.

"Hell no. My whispering will be limited to talking to you. And what's our group cover story?" he asked.

Heero considered it. "I work for Romefeller, in... international relations. I don't speak a lot of English--that'll keep us uninteresting. We came in place of my boss, who couldn't come due to his sister being in the hospital."

"Sounds reasonable to me, but scrap the non-English part," Duo said. "We'll keep it low-key."

"Alright," Heero said agreeably.

They were both silent as the car reached Paris, watching the buildings go by in the late afternoon. Duo finally broke it, staring out the window as he talked. "Did it strike you as odd that the man Trowa suggested we take out has the same last name as he does?"

Heero's expression became grim. "Yes, it did. But that's Trowa's business and not mine." He turned left at a traffic light.

"Hmmm," was all Duo said in response. They continued on.

* * *

When they pulled up in front of the estate where the party was being held, a boy of about their age in a dress jacket tapped the driver's side window. "I'll park ze car," he said. He looked bored. Heero looked around the valet and saw two others like him sitting on deck chairs beside the front gate in front of a board full of keys. 

Heero smiled, leaving the car running for the valet as he got out, moving around the vehicle to open Duo's door. Both were in character now; Duo accepted Heero's hand and gave him a charming smile as he gracefully slipped out of the car, carrying his shawl and bag. Heero shut the door behind him, took the light blue, beaded, purely decorative shawl, and draped it around Duo's shoulders before offering his arm. Duo accepted it like it was the most natural thing in the world to do, and they advanced toward the front gate as a couple.

"Don't walk too fast," Duo hissed through the side of his mouth at Heero. "Haven't quite got the hang of these shoes yet."

Heero raised his hand to his mouth, pretending to stifle a cough instead of laughter.

A butler at the front door smiled at them in greeting and asked for their invitation. Duo noticed that he was wearing an earpiece, and scanned his jacket for strange bulges while Heero presented the card. "Hikaru Midorikawa and Lola Descharmaines," he said calmly. Duo noted that he was using the same alias that he had at Clearwater Academy, when they'd first met face-to-face. And that he'd turned Duo into a Frenchwoman without his consent.

The butler smiled again more beatifically, gesturing them inside. "Jean is right there, he will announce you. Please, right this way, Monsieur et Mademoiselle."

And so, the couple walked into the world of the upper class and were announced as members of it. They made the rounds, shaking hands and talking (well, Heero was talking), sipping champagne and eavesdropping as much as possible as they played the role of a couple wanting to break into this high society.

It took Heero ten minutes to locate Dekim Barton from Trowa's description. He nudged Duo. "Eleven o'clock," he muttered. Duo looked, his eyes going wide as he found the man who Heero was talking about.

"That old guy talking to the guy in the blue uniform?" Duo whispered, risking quick glances at the two men as he spoke.

Heero nodded affirmatively. "That's Dekim," he said.

Duo gave him a look that clearly said, 'What now?' Heero shrugged, taking Duo by the elbow and gently leading him through the throng of people to the hors d'oeuvres table, which was about four feet away from the other two men.

Duo observed the men over Heero's shoulder as he bit into a quiche. "The young guy has forked eyebrows," he whispered suddenly.

Heero raised an eyebrow. "Are you serious?"

Duo put down his half-eaten quiche and with a surprisingly graceful twirl, had reversed his position with Heero's and was pushing him lightly across the room as he grinned widely at an unknown joke, giving Heero a good view of the man he was talking about.

"Sonofabitch, he does," Heero mused. He froze suddenly, nearly tripping Duo and catching him by the arms absently. He looked down at his cross-dressed partner. "Didn't Wufei mention something about a guy he thought we should take out?"

Duo frowned. "It was like French or Russian or something... Treize..."

"Treize Kushrenada," Heero said suddenly, his memory jogged. "I think that's him. Wufei said something about his eyebrows."

Duo backed up a half-pace, discreetly shaking off Heero's hands, which were still resting on his elbows, and as he smoothed out his long gloves, he studied Heero's expression. "So what do you want to do about it?" he asked quietly. "We agreed to go after Dekim. We don't even know what Treize's deal is."

Heero frowned thoughtfully. "You're right," he said. "Proceed as directed."

A butler appeared at the entrance to the parlour, clearing his throat to speak to the crowd. "Dinner is being served in the dining room. Will the ladies and gentlemen please proceed to their seats to begin the meal." He smiled and repeated himself in French, and everyone began to file into the next room.

The dining room was more of a hall. An enormous mahogany table dominated it, twenty chairs on each side. The crystal reflected the light of the candles along its length, creating a mesmerizing, sparkling effect.

Heero found their name cards and pulled out Duo's chair for him. Duo sat down with a slight nod and a smile, putting down his bag under the chair and folding his gloves on top of it. Hilde had informed him that he had to take them off for dinner. Heero took his shawl and draped it across the back of the chair for him before sitting down himself, to Duo's left.

Duo tucked his loose tendrils of hair behind his ears, his persona starting to weigh on him fully. Noticing that his hands shook a little, he folded them in his lap, sitting primly upright. Heero shot him a glance and frowned; he'd seen the shaking. He reached over and patted one of Duo's hands, giving him a steady, reassuring look. Duo returned it, trying to breathe.

By then, all of the other dinner guests had made their way into the dining room and seated themselves. Dekim and his wife sat on the other side of the table, one seat to Heero's left. To Duo's utter chagrin, Treize was right beside him. Just as he was giving the man a look of abject horror, Treize turned to meet his gaze. Duo looked away quickly, focusing on some woman's ridiculously expensive diamond necklace.

"And you are...?" Treize asked, drawing Duo's gaze back to him as he studied Duo's face.

Duo's eyes widened and he blushed, giving Heero a sharp nudge.

"What?" Heero said, switching his attention from the person whom he'd just been talking to. "Oh. My apologies, this is Lola Descharmaines, and I am Hikaru Midorikawa. I work in international relations for Romefeller. We're here in my employer's place; he had something pressing to take care of tonight." He extended his right hand around Duo, which Treize shook, giving Duo a curious look. "Lola has a bad case of laryngitis; she's trying to refrain from speaking," he explained.

Understanding dawned on Treize's face. "Ahhh, I see." He picked up Duo's hand, holding it up to his lips. "It's a shame I won't get the pleasure of hearing your sweet voice this evening, Mademoiselle," he purred before kissing it lightly.

Duo blushed again, completely weirded out.

"So you're Japanese then, Mr. Midorikawa," Treize said, leaning around Duo to address Heero once more.

"Yes, I am," Heero answered, looking a little puzzled.

"_Ore mo Nihon ni sugoshimashita yo_."

Heero looked floored. "_Ah, sou desu ka_," he responded shakily.

Duo had absolutely no idea what was going on. He gave them both an unsure look.

"I'm sorry, Mademoiselle, you don't speak Japanese, do you?" Treize apologized.

Duo shook his head, his eyes fixed on Treize's.

"I was merely telling your escort here that I have also spent some time in Japan," he said genially. "Fascinating culture. Beautiful language."

Heero nodded his head nervously, a shaky attempt at a bow. "Th-thank you, sir," he stuttered. _This guy is a piece of work_, he thought, suddenly not so confident in their disguise.

He glanced up at the table and saw Dekim giving them all an interested look, which was cut off when the first course came.

* * *

Duo hadn't realized until he saw a bowl of soup set in front of him that this meal was going to be the hardest part of the evening, including killing Dekim, however they were going to do _that_. He'd known that he'd have to be on his best mealtime behaviour, as his table manners were generally not all that genteel, and he was pretending to be a cultured woman. It hadn't set in until he saw food in front of him and his stomach let out a happy growl that he was probably going to go hungry tonight, by his standards. 

_I have to be careful how much I eat,_ he thought, glancing around the table at people picking up their soupspoons. _Probably have to leave food on every plate..._ He sighed inwardly, picking up his spoon. At least having Treize practically breathing down his neck had made him lose his appetite somewhat.

Between the last course of the meal and the coffee, Duo excused himself to the bathroom, picking up his bag. He walked slowly down the hall, relishing the moment of solitude as he listened to his heels clicking on the floor.

This estate obviously hosted a lot of parties of this kind, because the main floor had two large bathrooms side-by-side, one marked for each gender. Duo stopped and stared at the doors in confusion. He hadn't really been thinking about the consequences of doing this at all, had he? With a deep breath, he clutched his purse and pushed open the door to the ladies' room.

The inside was polished white marble and brass fixtures. A woman in a maid's uniform stood just inside the door, next to a small pile of fresh towels, and gave Duo a charming smile. He returned it, trying not to look too impressed with the setup, and strolled confidently over to the counter to fix his makeup.

As he checked his hair and makeup in the mirror, he couldn't help but notice how many _women _were in the room, chatting casually as they readjusted their dresses and fixed their hair and used the toilet, completely trusting of being entirely in their own company. _Imagine that_, he thought with a slight smirk as he opened his lipstick and leaned forward to apply it. _I wonder if actual transsexuals use the public restrooms. I wonder if any of these people have ever stopped to think about that._ Lipstick done, he rubbed his lips together lightly and pressed a clean tissue between them, like Hilde had shown him.

Smoothing a loose strand of hair back into place, he checked himself out in a full-length, gilt-edged mirror in the corner. _Wow, I do look pretty convincing!_ he thought, checking out his costume for the first time. He suddenly had more faith in his ability to stick the mission out. With fresh resolve, he washed his hands with scented soap, accepted a towel from the maid, and discreetly checked out a blonde in a black, backless number who was fixing her stockings as he left the bathroom.

* * *

When he sat down at the table again, the coffee had already arrived and the atmosphere was much more relaxed than it had felt earlier. Heero smiled at him when he sat down again, and Duo smiled too because he'd noticed that Treize had wandered to the other side of the room. 

Duo shunned his coffee and put his evening gloves back on to hide his somewhat inelegant hands. He leaned forward with the intention of speaking to Heero quietly, but Heero just shook his head slightly and took Duo by the hand, leading him out of the room without a word. Confused as all hell, Duo grabbed his things and followed, wondering where they were going.

A few minutes later, they emerged through a patio door onto a moonlit terrace, which led into the estate's back garden. A few couples roamed about, and some people talked in small groups as they drank their coffee or nibbled at desserts. Heero continued to lead Duo gently by the hand as they walked to a fountain in the back corner. Heero stopped at the edge of the fountain farthest from the house and turned to face Duo, his arms crossed casually over his chest.

"I figured this would be a better place to talk without being overheard," Heero explained, his voice partially obscured by the noise of the falling water.

Duo had to admit, it was a good idea. "How did you know this was here?" he asked.

"I didn't; I knew that there was a garden and I figured it would probably have somewhere discreet to talk. Then I saw the fountain." Heero shrugged.

His cleverness was infuriating sometimes.

"So," Duo said, getting to business, "did you have anything in mind for the job?"

"I already took care of it, actually," Heero said.

Duo stared.

"I went to the bathroom too, while you were attending to your girly things. On the way back to my seat, I passed Dekim's and slipped a cyanide tablet into his coffee."

Heero had apparently thought of everything, but Duo saw a slight problem with the plan. "I didn't see him at his seat when I came back. There were a couple cups of coffee there, though. Or, wait--one was tea."

Heero nodded. "He wasn't at his seat when I slipped in the cyanide, either. That was maybe a minute before you came back. I think the tea belonged to his wife; it was in front of her chair."

Duo thought about it and frowned. "So, then... he's probably drinking it as we speak."

"Probably," Heero said.

Duo wrapped his shawl tighter around his arms, like it was going to give him any protection against the cool night air. Everything was quiet and still, and then suddenly Heero had grabbed him, and he found himself pressed against Heero's shoulder, his eyes as wide as saucers.

"_Someone's coming this way,_" Heero whispered in his ear.

Duo understood, and forced himself to relax, raising his arms from where they were pinned to his sides and placing them lightly on Heero's back. He could feel hard, sinewy muscles through the suit jacket, and as he cautiously rested his head on Heero's shoulder, he could smell an enticing mix of the garden's night-blooming jasmine and Heero's aftershave. Their bodies were close enough together that his fake breasts pressed against Heero's flat, muscular chest. Duo felt so tired...

"I–um–I'm sorry if I'm, uh, interrupting anything," a strange male voice stuttered. Duo froze, shaken from his strange reverie, and turned to see who was talking as he and Heero released each other. It was a young man from the dinner.

"What's the matter?" Heero asked, his voice tense.

"Mrs. Barton collapsed. Someone called an ambulance."

Both boys gave the man a shocked look. It was genuine; this was not how it was supposed to go.

"What happened to her?" Heero asked urgently.

"I don't know... She-she took a sip of her coffee and then she was on the ground!"

_Fuck_, the two spies thought simultaneously.

They followed the messenger into the house, and met mass panic and disorder. Dekim was on the floor, cradling his young, dead wife's head in his lap. Treize knelt beside him as they conferred. Everyone else was either standing around looking pale, crying hysterically, or frantically calling people on their mobile phones. The ambulance showed up at the front door and some paramedics carted away the body, Dekim drifting after them.

Heero sat down heavily in a chair, and Duo stood awkwardly beside him. "They switched seats," Heero said simply, feeling like an ass.

"It's okay," Duo said softly, patting his shoulder. "Honest mistake, really."

"Terrible tragedy," came a voice from behind them. They both jumped; it was Treize. He walked up and took a seat next to Heero. "Looks like someone poisoned her coffee. It's all over the floor now, but they're going to send some in for tests. My guess is that it was cyanide. Nasty stuff. But," he said, softly and dramatically, "why would anyone want to go to the trouble of poisoning such an innocent and benevolent woman?" He shook his head sadly. "Such a waste."

"Yes, it is, isn't it?" Heero said.

As they collected the car and drove back to the helicopter pad, both teens were quiet. Heero was brooding about his botched homicide, which was not only understandable, but absolutely expected from him. Duo figured he was probably doing his best not to drive them straight into a building out of anger.

Duo, on the other hand, had already forgiven, and moved on from, the incident. He was staring moodily out of the passenger window, his chin in his hand, wishing he could sit in the backseat or something, just to put more distance between him and Heero than the stick shift. Their sudden embrace in the garden had done very bad things to his emotional stability, because it had brought back in sharp relief his disturbing dream about Heero from a few nights prior. He hadn't realized how shapely Heero's back would feel under his fingertips, or how Heero's hair could tickle his nose like that. Or how quickly he could relax in the other boy's embrace, soaking up his body heat. He wondered what kind of aftershave Heero used.

He was never going to like the smell of jasmine again.

* * *

A/N: I am so goddamn evil. I love it. Please comment. 


	43. Aftermath

A/N: I'm leaving for Quebec on Sunday. For a month. Yay.

Disclaimer: Insert disclaimer similar to the previous forty-two instances here.

* * *

Deadly Beautiful - Chapter 43

_by danse

* * *

_

"You killed _his wife?_" Wufei said for the third time, apparently still not believing that Heero could have screwed up so royally.

Heero was stubbornly silent, hunched over in his chair and brooding at the floor.

Duo scratched the back of his neck awkwardly, and then discovered yet another bobby pin still stuck in his hair. He pulled it out and glared at it. "Yeah. We did. It was a miscalculation."

"Fucking right it was!" Wufei snarled. "And you _saw_ Treize there; you could have gone after _him_ instead if Barton was that hard to get to!"

Duo had had enough. He chucked the bobby pin at Wufei, who swiped it aside angrily before it could hit him in the eye. "Cool your jets, 'Fei, accidents happen," he said.

The argument that Wufei was just about to start about Duo's tendency to use nicknames was cut short as Heero suddenly shot out of his chair and stalked out of the room. As the red curtain in the doorway swung violently in his wake, the remaining four boys were shocked into silence. After recovering his colour, Duo shot Wufei a glare that should have burst his skull open. "Fucking bastard," he muttered, getting up to follow Heero.

Wufei was left with Trowa and Quatre staring at him with disapproving and slightly disgusted looks on their faces.

"What?" he said defensively.

Quatre rolled his eyes.

* * *

"Heero! _Heero!_ You asshole, slow down and talk to me!" Duo shouted, jogging to catch up to the tempest roaring through the hallways. One look at his face was all it seemed to take to make Maganacs clear the way. 

Duo caught up and grabbed Heero by the arm, dragging him to a stop as he panted. Heero tensed under his grip and then turned around, giving Duo a clear view of his face.

It was beyond angry.

It was so far beyond angry that it was breaking down, and Duo could see the other feelings bleeding through it: anguish; embarrassment; shame. He let go of Heero's arm slowly. Heero didn't run away.

They stood and stared at each other, and as the look in the Japanese teen's eyes slowly diminished, Duo remembered his theory of ice so cold it burned. Heero's eyes were burning in that same way now. It didn't scare him at all, though, because he knew Heero's secret: for all of his efforts to act like an adult and take charge, he was actually just a scared, sixteen-year-old kid who probably never had a real childhood.

"We fucked up. It happens. Wufei probably would have made the same mistake, or tried something stupider and gotten caught. Build a bridge and get over it." He crossed his arms and glared back at Heero, knowing it was like trying to stare down a Medusa.

"You didn't fuck up," Heero said quietly. "_I _did. It was my fault, not yours."

Duo shook his head, thoroughly sick of Heero's self-abusive attitude. "Nuh-uh, that shit won't fly with me. I was your partner, I get half the blame." He smiled. "That means there will be no self-punishment either. Got it?" He couldn't adequately explain to himself why he gave a damn, but that didn't seem to be stopping his mouth from moving apparently of its own accord.

Duo's sworn enemy looked down at his feet, and when he looked back up, his gaze wasn't any more hostile than it usually was. Maybe even a little less. "Okay," he said.

Duo walked away. His hands shook a little. He needed to find Hilde; he didn't really know why, but he did.

* * *

Hilde was just starting to pack her clothes when someone started hammering on her bedroom door. She went and opened it to find Duo standing there, looking frazzled. She raised an eyebrow at him. 

"I need to talk to you," he blurted out. He was wringing his hands.

Hilde immediately thought she didn't like where this was going, but she couldn't say no. She opened the door wider and sat down in the chair, looking at him expectantly.

Duo shut the door and started to pace, his hands never stopping their fidgeting. He was worrying the end of his braid as he started to talk.

"You know, when I was little, before I ended up on the streets, I spent some time in an orphanage at a Catholic church. I've always thought that if I was religious at all, I was Catholic, you know? Because that was the only religion that ever factored into my life at all. I know I kill people now, but that's beside the point," Duo said.

"And, when I was little, I was taught that love exists between a man and a woman, and that kind of stuck. I've always loved the ladies, and I never thought anything could ever change that." He stopped and looked at her.

Hilde was clutching the arms of the chair, holding her breath as she listened. Duo had used the word 'love' while talking to her. Her imagination was in overdrive, but she was still feeling a little, cold ball of dread in her stomach. _Call it women's intuition_, she thought.

Duo started pacing again. "I met these guys, and I really like Quatre and Trowa as friends, I guess like brothers--although I'm not sure what _that _feels like from personal experience. Wufei's just an asshole. And well, Heero and I got off to an extremely bad start with trying to kill each other." He stopped suddenly, staring up at the ceiling as his voice took on a faraway quality. "We hated each other so much... and then we had to cooperate. And it turns out that he's really fucking smart. Like, I'm so glad he's on our side, because if he worked for OZ, we would never have had a chance. We work well together, when we can put aside the revenge thing." He sat down on the bed.

All of a sudden, Hilde thought she could see where this rant was going. She pressed her lips together into a grim line, squeezing her eyes shut and hoping that they would stay dry until he'd managed to say it all.

Duo slouched forward, looking unintentionally much the same way Heero had earlier as he stared down at the floor between his feet. "I really don't know what's going on inside my head right now, Hilde," he said. He sounded like a lost, little boy.

Taking a deep breath, Hilde raised herself from the chair and went to sit beside Duo on the bed. She leaned in and wrapped him in a big hug, which he returned eagerly, desperately clinging to her. "It's okay, Duo," she said reassuringly, stroking his head as she let her chin rest on top of it. "It's okay and it's natural. Just do what feels right and don't fight it..."

After several minutes of clinging to each other, they separated. Duo smiled at her. "I'm... thanks, Hilde. You're a great friend." He caressed her cheek lightly with a smile before leaving for destinations unknown.

When the door was shut and she was sure of being safe, Hilde pressed a hand to the cheek he'd touched and collapsed among her half-folded clothes, crying herself to sleep.

* * *

Treize looked up from the report he was skimming when his private line began to ring. Frowning, he answered it with a curt greeting. A familiar voice responded in French. 

"Hello, Commander," Philippe said. "Armand and I have followed the targets like you asked."

"And...?" Treize prompted.

"We trailed them to Saudi Arabia, and it appears that they are sequestered in a secret compound. It is hidden and heavily fortified."

Treize wasn't sure that he liked where this was going.

"We-we believe that it is the Maganac stronghold, Commander."

Treize sighed forcefully. _As I suspected_, he thought. There was no messing with that group–at least not in his current position, and not without permission from his superiors. He thought for a minute. "Philippe, listen carefully. I want you to hang back until they leave the compound. Do not attack or force entry into the Maganac headquarters. Take a note of its location, but wait until the targets leave for some reason, and _then_ you may deal with them."

"Commander, do you want them dead or brought back alive?"

Treize smiled. "Please bring them both to me alive, if at all possible. Goodbye, Philippe, I await your return." He hung up and leaned back in his chair, contemplating the ceiling.

He'd promised Dekim that he would investigate the death of Natalia Barton with all due haste. While Treize suspected that it had been a failed assassination attempt on Dekim himself, Dekim was convinced that he was being bullied, that someone had intentionally killed both his son and his wife in an effort to scare him so that he could be coerced later into something he wouldn't want to do. Considering that his daughter was long since dead, Treize didn't suppose that there were very many people who knew what else to threaten to get Dekim's cooperation. Certainly his own life wouldn't do the trick, not with Dekim. No, it had to have been an attempt on his life that was botched.

After looking into the guest register for the party, Treize had noticed that the only names that really struck a warning chord were those of the young couple whom he'd sat beside at the dinner. The Japanese man and his mute date. They'd seemed a little odd at the time, but he hadn't been able to put his finger on anything until after Natalia's unfortunate death, when they'd been standing together awkwardly and looking rather suspiciously cold about the whole thing for a pair of socialites.

Before the night had even ended, Treize had gone looking through the invitation list, and found that the invitation they'd presented had belonged, not to someone in International Relations as Midorikawa had claimed, but to the C.O. of the Argentina Leo compound that had been destroyed a little over a week previously. It had taken no more evidence to send Philippe and Armand to tail the two. Now he was finally going to get his hands on the group that was starting to become a real threat to OZ's objectives.

Assuming that it wasn't actually the Maganacs.

* * *

A/N: Short setup chapter, long chapter of action. Short setup chapter, long chapter of action. Short setup chapter, long chapter of action. Short setup chapter. GUESS WHAT COMES NEXT. 


	44. From Kushrenada with Love

(I was going to set a firm release date for this chapter of the coming Saturday, to increase sales. But then I decided I love you more than that, so you get it early. :D)

A/N: As for this chapter, I said to myself, "Self, this story needs a car chase." And I always try to heed good advice.

Disclaimer: My papers declaring my legal ownership of Gundam Wing were in my pants pocket and got washed with the laundry. I was looking like mad for them so I wouldn't have to write a disclaimer. The moral of the story: check your pockets when you do laundry. Because I lost some gum, too. I really miss that gum. Barring that, laminate all your ownership papers before laundering them.

* * *

Deadly Beautiful – Chapter 44

_by danse

* * *

_

Duo and Hilde left the Maganac base early the next morning, both strangely silent. Duo hadn't seemed himself since he and Heero had come back from their mission the other night, Wufei had noticed.

Trowa had slipped out with them, the trio sharing a Jeep for the trip to the airport before going their separate ways: Duo and Hilde back to New York, and Trowa to wherever his sister was hiding as she waited for him. Wufei had also noticed that Quatre seemed out-of-sorts after their departure, but unlike Duo's mood swing, he could take a very good guess at why Quatre was acting strangely.

That left him and Heero as the only outsiders left among the Maganac forces. The two of them and Quatre were lingering over a late breakfast, having skipped the meal earlier to go say goodbye to their comrades.

It was Heero who brought up the issue of leaving first. "Well," he said, "I'm all packed. I assume you are, too." He looked at Wufei, who was finishing off his orange juice.

Wufei put down his glass and nodded. "I'm ready to go."

"Where to?" Heero asked.

"France," Wufei answered without hesitation.

Quatre raised his eyebrows. "What's in France?"

Heero smirked, locking eyes with Wufei as he answered the question. "Treize Kushrenada is in France," he said.

Wufei gave Heero a very brief, scathing look, but said nothing.

"What's your hang-up with this Kushrenada?" Quatre asked. "I mean, I know he's a bad guy, but I think you've got way too much of a personal stake in this." He gave Wufei a concerned look.

The Chinese boy avoided his two companions' gazes as he got up from the table. "It's none of your business," he muttered as he walked away with his dishes.

Heero called after him. "We'll travel together till we hit Greece, okay? We're going the same way."

Wufei just nodded without turning around. Quatre and Heero gave each other an exasperated look, and Quatre twirled a finger around next to his ear as he took another bite of his toast.

* * *

Heero and Wufei said their goodbyes to Quatre a couple of hours later and caught a ride with a Maganac woman who was taking a helicopter to Turkey to look after some pressing issues. Once they were in Istanbul, Heero led the way to a car rental company where, with a fake international driver's licence that said he was twenty-five and a questionably valid credit card, he set about renting a car to take them the rest of the way. Unfortunately, the inevitable stack of paperwork, haggling, and contracts to sign kept them at the rental company for a little over an hour. 

Just as Wufei finished flipping through his third Turkish sports magazine and was considering just ditching Heero and finding his own way to France and possibly also lunch, his erstwhile travelling companion emerged from the office he'd been stuck in for the past hour, holding up car keys and looking as tired as if he'd just finished an endurance marathon.

Wufei stood up, stretching out his legs and arms as Heero approached him. "What kind of car did you get?" he asked.

Heero twirled the keys around his finger. "Mazda RX-7," he responded absently.

Wufei froze with his arms stretched over his head, staring in surprise. He didn't know what he'd been expecting Heero to say, but it wasn't _that_. To his credit, he recovered quickly, lowering his arms back to his sides as he smirked at Heero. "You could have done better than that," he pointed out, raising an eyebrow.

Heero shoved his hands in his pockets and made his way toward the door. "They don't have an RX-8," he admitted.

"The truth comes out. You know," Wufei said suddenly, smirking again, "if Duo was here, he'd probably be bouncing around, yelling 'road trip', and trying to steal the keys."

He couldn't see Heero's face from where he was. "Don't get any ideas," Heero said, nodding at the man who presented them with their overindulgent ride to France. It was candy-apple red, of course. Wufei was realizing more and more that Heero was quite a piece of work.

It was clear by the time they got out of the rental company's parking lot and onto one of Istanbul's main drags why Heero liked performance cars. He settled back into the driver's seat so that Wufei started to wonder how well he could see over the dash as he deftly maneuvered the vehicle through the narrow, crowded streets.

"You hungry?" Heero asked, but didn't actually wait for an answer as he suddenly turned a corner into the parking lot of a falafel house. Wufei thought the black car behind them was going to smash right into them for a second. Heero drifted the car into a spot in the mostly-empty lot, his face expressionless except for the faintest glimmer of amusement in his eyes. "Hope you like falafel," he said as he opened his door, glancing at Wufei before getting out.

It took a second for Wufei's legs to start working properly again. He'd had to restrain himself from digging his fingers into the dashboard during that drift. It would have been a sign of weakness, and one could not afford to look weak around Heero. _He's fucking nuts_, Wufei sighed to himself, following Heero into the restaurant.

* * *

Armand had been watching the Maganac's helicopter pad when the male half of their two targets suddenly strolled out onto the pad with two other people. While one of them was a woman, she was clearly the wrong one, as she was Arabic. He beckoned to Philippe, who came over and stole Armand's binoculars to peer at the pad himself. Meanwhile, Armand hauled out their laptop and tracking equipment. He picked up what looked like a high-powered rifle and put the helicopter carefully in his sights before squeezing the trigger. It wasn't a bullet that embedded itself in the tail of the chopper, though; it was a tracking device developed by OZ that was the size of his thumb, with a range of approximately 1000 kilometres. After activating it with his laptop, which he was already in the process of doing as the rotors on the top of the chopper started to turn lazily, it would transmit a wireless signal to the computer which would allow them to follow at a safe distance without fear of losing their targets in the air. They'd used a similar device already to track the targets to Saudi Arabia from Paris. 

Armand tapped Philippe's shoulder and gave him a thumbs-up when the other man turned around to face him. The roar of the churning helicopter blades was too loud to talk over without shouting. Philippe nodded back and the two men packed up their equipment as quickly as possible to dash to their Jeep, Armand balancing the open laptop as he went. Philippe took the wheel and they peeled off through the sand to the closest Romefeller-owned oilfield, where they'd landed their own helicopter the day before. It was refueled and ready to go by now, or people were going to die until it was. Treize's orders.

* * *

When the two French OZ agents arrived in Istanbul on the heels of their prey, Armand spotted the Chinese boy who accompanied the one they were after, just as he disappeared around a corner on the edge of town. The two men readily abandoned all of their things, except for a loaded sidearm apiece, in the helicopter; Philippe had just called someone stationed in town to come and do something about the vehicle and its contents for them. They took off after the two boys and caught up within two blocks, trailing at a distance. 

While they'd been warned that their target was most likely quite dangerous, they were both good at following people quietly and it would never have occurred to them that if Heero was on his guard, he could have noticed their presence even while they were over half a block behind. Luckily for them, Heero wasn't on his guard, and it never occurred to him that someone could possibly be stalking him from one of the most secure terrorist encampments in existence, when he himself hadn't been sure of his destination until about five minutes before getting in the helicopter.

Thus the two men went completely unnoticed as the two boys entered a car rental company close to the airport. They went into a café across the street and loitered at the window with thick coffee and baklava, watching the Chinese boy sitting behind the window of the rental place for an hour until he was finally rejoined by his friend and the two walked out the door. As soon as they disappeared around the back of the building, Armand and Philippe sprang from their seats, dropped several bills on the table, and left the café, jaywalking across the street to the other building.

As Philippe marched up to the counter and flashed a fake CIA badge and his gun holster, growling at the secretary in a flawless American accent to give him a damn car _right now_, Armand peeked out the window and saw a red Mazda peel around the corner. He caught sight of the first four digits of the license plate and muttered them over and over to himself as Philippe came out the door, brandishing keys and grabbing him by the arm to drag him over to a black Fiat at the front of the lot. Philippe lost no time in screeching out onto the street after the Mazda, and all told, it was hardly two minutes after the import's departure that they started pursuing it.

Armand scanned the road ahead, leaning forward and squinting through the windshield as if it would help. His eyes widened. "F-54H! There they are! There they are! _À la gauche!_" he yelled, pointing wildly at the car that was a block away (it had been held up by a red light). Their good luck was almost ridiculous today.

Philippe gunned the Fiat's engine and cut off someone in the left lane, working the wheel like his life depended on it as they slalomed through the afternoon traffic to catch up to their quarry. When they were two cars behind, he slowed down to follow casually.

The sporty, red four-door snaked through the busy avenues of Istanbul like it owned the place, eventually (and abruptly) turning to enter the parking lot of a falafel house. Armand watched with wide eyes as the Mazda drifted gracefully into an empty spot, leaving short tire marks on the pavement. Philippe kept driving as Armand watched the car doors open. "We'll park just up the street," he explained to his partner. "When they leave, we'll put the press on them, as it were."

Armand nodded his agreement.

* * *

After a filling first encounter with falafel, Wufei was in good spirits as he and Heero left the restaurant. They'd whiled away the time between mouthfuls of food by discussing the merits of hand-to-hand combat over weapons. While Heero had declared that nothing really beat the sensations of going to town on someone with a length of lead pipe (God only knew when he'd experienced _that_), Wufei was quite proud of an argument he'd presented about the twin merits of kung fu, in that not only was it more honourable for one to fight an unarmed enemy on equal terms—or better yet, defeat an armed one bare-handed—but also because it felt so good to be able to paralyse someone twice your size with only your thumb and forefinger. Heero seemed to agree with him there. 

They got into the car and Wufei gritted his teeth as Heero reversed and swung the front of the car around nearly 180 degrees to exit the parking lot. Once they were back on the road, it was smooth sailing. Heero seemed to know where he was going, which was more than Wufei could say for himself, so he relaxed back into the plush seat and tried to enjoy the ride. He even shut his eyes to try and catch a nap, but he opened them a few minutes later when it seemed like Heero was taking a lot of right turns. "What are you doing?" Wufei asked.

Heero was tense, his right hand gripping the gear shift until his knuckles turned white as he kept glaring at the rear-view mirror. "I think we're being followed," he said tersely.

Wufei stuttered out some syllables of disbelief as he sat up and glanced in the mirror on his door, and then turned to peek around his seat. "That black car?" he asked. He remembered it from in front of the restaurant.

"Yeah, that one," Heero growled, down shifting and turning left into an alley as the Fiat stuck to their tail.

Wufei faced forward again, his mind racing as he stared at his feet. "Get out of town," he said. "Get on the highway or something. We can outpace them."

Heero was stony-faced. "I can handle it," he said staunchly. Wufei glared at him but could do nothing as Heero skidded out of the alley and drove for half a block in the wrong direction on a (thankfully empty) one-way street, sailing around the corner onto a two-way road again. The Fiat pursued.

Admiring the guts that this guy obviously had, Heero stepped it up a notch, shifting up and completely ignoring the posted speed limit as he cruised through the mid-afternoon grind of Istanbul. Half a block ahead, he saw an intersection where the light was changing to yellow. He saw a large van sitting at the red, waiting to go. Smiling for the first time, he floored the accelerator and shot through the intersection just as the light changed, watching in his mirror as the Fiat followed and expecting the van to pull out and either block the black car or collide with it. His face fell when he saw he'd timed the risk wrong; the other car had to swerve a little but it missed the van and kept coming.

Heero decided it was time to start driving with both hands on the wheel.

He wasn't sure where he was after that one-way street stunt, but a couple of blocks later on the same straightaway, running two red lights with milliseconds of safety to spare, he figured out his location and formed a plan from there. He took his next left nearly on two wheels and felt the engine respond beautifully as he roared down a major thoroughfare for two kilometres. The Fiat was still riding his ass as he took an exit with no warning at all, and he grinned as the other car looked like it was going to overshoot the exit. Unfortunately it slowed down in time and rode across the grass to hit the pavement again, nearly sideswiping him on the driver's side in the process.

Just as Wufei said, this car would be able to outmatch a Fiat on a straightaway. He knew that after a tunnel with some gentle curves, the road he was on flattened out for six kilometres before curving around a cliff side for a while. He would be able to lose his tail on the straight section and then take the first available exit, dirt road or otherwise, and loop back into town before they had a hope of catching up. Maybe he'd even luck out sooner and the cliff curves would do them in. Mentally crossing his fingers, he flew down the road and into the broad mouth of the tunnel.

Once the two cars had entered the two-lane tunnel, the Fiat picked up speed and rode alongside, the drivers coming up parallel to each other. Heero allowed this until Wufei declared that their pursuers were armed and that the passenger had his gun out. "Oh my god, is that a Desert Eagle?" Wufei gaped.

Heero floored it again and they took off ahead.

As the Fiat nosed its way up to them again, it slipped back into a position right behind them. Wufei was watching in his mirror as the passenger did something he couldn't see properly, and then suddenly the man was hanging half out of the window, his head terribly close to the concrete wall of the tunnel.

Wufei's eyes went very wide. "He's going to shoot!" he said, hunkering down in his seat instinctively.

"Well, shoot back!" Heero said distractedly, glancing quickly behind him as he nosed the car over 110 in fourth gear.

"I'm not armed!" he cried back.

"Where's your precious unarmed kung fu getting you now?" Heero muttered, taking one hand off the wheel for a second to reach behind his back. He tossed a handgun at Wufei, who caught it deftly. "It's loaded; eight shots. No extra ammo."

Deciding not to wonder why Heero kept a gun down the back of his pants, Wufei carefully rolled down his window and took off the safety on the gun, taking a deep breath and waiting for the first shot.

It came through the back window on the passenger side, and although they were somewhat prepared for it, Heero still had to work not to let the car swerve. They went around a right curve shortly after, and Wufei took advantage of the angle to lean out of his window and fire a return shot at the Fiat. It hit the windshield around the middle and spiderwebbed it.

The Fiat caught up again, but by this time they'd emerged from the tunnel onto the straightaway. Heero relaxed and kicked the RX-7 into fifth gear, letting it accelerate evenly until he was doing close to 170 kilometres per hour. The Fiat all but vanished. He didn't figure it would be able to go faster than 150 without pushing it. He knew he could break 200 without much problem. Just to be safe, he pushed the needle up to 180 for the last two kilometres of the straight road and then prepared himself for some work as the first, somewhat gentle curve approached, the road disappearing around the side of the cliff.

Wufei looked at Heero, at the determined expression on his face as he sat low in his seat and stared fixedly ahead, and double-checked his seatbelt. This guy drove like Mario Andretti. He silently crossed his fingers that no one would suddenly appear going the other way, because Heero was taking corners in the middle of the road, using the whole thing at his disposal. It was like watching someone play a road racing simulator.

They were two and a half kilometres into the cliff road with no sign of their pursuers when something suddenly started beeping. Wufei shot Heero a wary glance as Heero looked down at the dashboard. He suddenly started swearing in what sounded like Japanese and then Wufei noticed the car slowing down noticeably from its breakneck pace. "What the hell is wrong?" he demanded. "Why are we slowing down?"

Heero glared darkly at everything. "The oil light came on. The engine badly needs some," he snipped.

Wufei goggled at him. "So-so what are we going to do?" he snapped back, gesticulating wildly. "Pull over and fill it! Oh hey, we can wave at those idiots in the Fiat when they go by. You know, the ones with the _big guns_."

"Shut the fuck up, Wufei," Heero said concisely. "I think we can ride it out long enough to get away, but we can't go quite as fast as we were or we won't have a car at all in another ten clicks." He tapped his nail on the steering wheel irritably. "Those idiots at the rental place clearly haven't kept the oil topped up properly. Rotary engines like this one need a lot of it."

Wufei quite frankly didn't give a shit. They were going at the comparative snail's pace of 120 around the corners and, he suspected, slower every minute. He thought he could hear the slight beginnings of a knock in the engine. He slunk down in his seat and held the gun tightly for self-security. Seven shots left.

It didn't take long for the Fiat to appear behind them suddenly on a curve. The passenger leaned out of his window again and the driver moved to the middle of the road to keep him from braining himself on the rock wall at 130 kilometres per hour. Angrily, Heero sped up again, pushing the car's endurance as Wufei played his waiting game once more, planning to hit a tire this time if at all possible. Hopefully that wouldn't flip the other car over on top of them before Heero could get away.

They hit a straighter stretch of road without a guardrail on the steep side for the next few kilometres. Heero came out of the corner on the outside and was riding close to the shoulder as a shot missed their car. Wufei leaned out of the window and fired twice at the partially visible tire on the front driver's side, but only managed to put holes in the fender and front bumper. He climbed back inside the car and strapped himself in again as Heero negotiated another turn with no guardrail. They were in a frequent avalanche zone now, apparently; there were signs in Turkish with pictures of falling rocks, and a lot of little gravel piles on either side of the road.

The shot that took out their right rear tire surprised them both; Wufei could do nothing but hold on for dear life as the Mazda swung back and forth. Heero's hands were grafted to the wheel as he fought with the car to keep it on the road. It was hopeless. Like watching a train wreck, Wufei saw each event individually and in extreme slow motion: the car swinging right, left, right, and finally spinning around to face the Fiat; the passenger of the Fiat aiming at them but then lowering his gun as he watched them fishtail; the patch of loose gravel on the road that the still-spinning left rear wheel hit at at least 70 kilometres per hour; the lurch to the side as the car swung around again and crashed through the first five feet of where the guardrail started again; the screech of tearing metal and the smell of burning rubber and oil; the weightless sensation as thousands of pounds of metal careened through open space for a second; the sick, brain-mushing crash as it smashed into the hillside and started to roll.

The next few minutes after that were lost to Wufei forever. The first thing he remembered after the rolling was suddenly realizing that he was slouched forward. His seatbelt was keeping him attached to his seat. He looked over to his left for Heero and saw a tree trunk about three inches from his face. The car had slid down the last part of its descent nose-forward, and plowed directly into a tree hard enough to cleave the front in two. He tried to speak, but started coughing from the dust and smoke. "H-Heero?" he croaked finally, afraid to be too loud. He got no response and tried again. Nothing.

Seeing that his door opened if he kicked it hard enough, and that there was solid ground shortly underneath, Wufei carefully unbuckled himself and slid out of the totalled Mazda. He still had the gun, with five shots left in it if he wasn't mistaken, and there was his cellphone and pager in the rear pocket of his jeans. He also had a splitting headache but he didn't think that counted.

He sat there in a daze for a moment, trying to get his thoughts to stop scattering, but the sudden sound of male voices and the skittering of a stone down the cliff did more to rouse him. He stood up shakily, the gun in his right hand as he splayed his limbs out for balance, and walked around the back of the car to the driver's side as quickly as he could. There was still a lot of smoke around, and he was surprised nothing had exploded yet. He peeked into the smashed window on the driver's door. Nothing there. He checked under the car and scanned the bushes all around. Nothing there, either. The voices were getting louder, and if he looked up the hill he saw—holy cow, was that a steep drop—two men at the top with rope, tying it to what was left of the guardrail and apparently intending to come down and see what was left of the car. He didn't think they could see him through the foliage. Not finding any trace of Heero, not even blood, and feeling rather helpless and vulnerable and more than a little nauseous, Wufei stumbled off through the bushes, heading more or less back the way they'd come.

He was half hoping that he'd stumble upon the other teenager while trekking through the trees, but no such luck. Finally, he stopped to rest, unable to stand the way his head was spinning. He sat down on a rock and felt his cellphone in his back pocket again. Putting down the gun, Wufei dug the phone out, opened it, and stared at the glowing screen. Finally, he dialled Quatre's number and put it to his ear.

* * *

A/N: Oh noes. 


	45. Démenageant

A/N: Hello to everyone. I know that Link Worshiper has been madly coercing everyone she can into reading DB, and as always I thank her for the pimpage. By writing her boysmut. And if you pimp as much as she does, you get boysmut too! Maybe. We'll see. Anyways, welcome to all the new readers who are caught up, and to all the old ones who were here all along, How _you_ doin'? ;)

Disclaimer: It ain't mine, I just mistreat it like it is.

* * *

Deadly Beautiful – Chapter 45

_by danse

* * *

_

Hilde and Duo had managed to get two seats together flying standby on a plane back to New York, with a stopover in London. Hilde had been extraordinarily quiet the whole way so far, and Duo had resorted to falling asleep to pass the time. After taking off again in London, Duo had slept for an hour and a half, until the flight attendants came around with food. They ate their beef stroganoff in relative silence, and when she was finished, Hilde took to staring out of her window again, although there was nothing to see but wisps of clouds flying by.

After the empty plastic dishes had been removed, Duo was just thinking about another nap when Hilde cleared her throat. Surprised at her using such a conversation starter, he turned to look at her.

She kept her gaze trained on the window as she spoke softly, her head leaning against the side of her seat. "I've been thinking, Duo," she said slowly. "I've been living on your couch for, like, two, two and a half months now. That's too long. You got me a job, and I've only had to pitch in money for groceries so far. I make so much money now that I could go back to the lifestyle I had for a year, maybe two, just on my savings." She finally turned to look at him, examining the confused and alarmed look on his face. "Before we left Quatre's, I called the landlord, and it turns out that there's a couple suites for rent in your building. The rent is reasonable. He called me back while we were in London and confirmed that I can move into a new apartment, effective immediately."

Duo stared. His mouth was hanging dumbly open; he was speechless. "This... is sudden," he said meekly.

Hilde smiled a little sadly and shrugged. "No time like the present," she quipped.

Duo's mouth worked silently a little more. "Di-did I do something wrong? Are you pissed off at me?" he asked.

Hilde moved her gaze to the back of the seat in front of her, staring at the catch on her tray table. She gnawed her lip a little, but Duo didn't really notice it. "You've done nothing wrong," she answered still more softly. "I just... it's time I started looking after myself." She sighed and flashed him a quick grin. "Besides," she said, "your couch is ridiculously uncomfortable. I want to remember what sleeping in a bed feels like!"

Duo grinned and started to chuckle, and Hilde joined in, in spite of herself.

* * *

When Trowa stepped off the plane in Rome, he bought a northbound bus ticket and settled in for a four hour journey. The scenery started out brown and uninteresting but improved as the bus progressed along the autostrada. Trowa sat quietly in his seat, staring out the window and listening to an MP3 player as hills and sporty two-seaters whizzed by him, going in opposite directions. Finally, as the sun was reaching its height for the day, the bus pulled into its station in Milan. Trowa grabbed his bag and got off, looking around to get his bearings as he shifted the bag's strap on his shoulder. After stopping to use the bathroom, he bought a train ticket and hopped on the metro. 

It was late afternoon by the time he found the suburb of Corsico, making his way by memorized directions to a newish apartment building on a one-way street. He entered the drab, white-tiled lobby and looked at the tenant list before pressing the button next to the name, 'Carregi, P.' He waited for several seconds before hearing a rattle through the speaker, followed by a female voice saying, "_Pronto_?"

He couldn't keep his face from breaking into a big grin. "_Pasqua, la mia cara, sono io, Bartolo."_ Catherine had arranged fake identities for both of them.

Trowa heard a sharp intake of breath on the other end, and almost immediately the buzzer sounded to announce that the door to the stairs was unlocked. He opened it and jogged up to the third floor. He barely made it out of the stairs and into the hallway before he was nearly knocked over by a surprise tackle from his sister.

"Bartolo!" she cried, still exercising healthy paranoia and self-preservation even in her excitement. "Oh my god, I was worried you would never come! You silly bastard, why did you make me wait so long?"

Trowa dropped his bag to hug his sister with both arms, feeling awkward and yet complete at once. "Stayed up at night worrying, did you? I told you not to wait up for me," he teased. He thought he could get used to this easily enough.

They clung to each other in the stifling hallway for a few moments before realizing that they probably looked silly. They released each other, albeit somewhat reluctantly. She stood back, looking embarrassed, and tucked her hair behind her ear, displaying big hoop earrings. "Well," she said, "home's right down the hall, there. Let's get you settled." She turned on her heel and walked sedately back to her door, which she'd left hanging open in her haste, and shut it behind Trowa, making excuses for a general lack of cleanliness. She'd actually just gotten the vacuum out right before he called her on the intercom.

Trowa stepped out of his runners at the door, kicking them onto the mat as he hung up his jacket. Finally, he gave the place a quick look around. It was small but attractive, with soft, sand-coloured walls that reminded him somewhat of where he'd just come from, and gauzy white curtains that were currently waving in the breeze. All of her furniture looked more or less new, and the brown tile on the floor was covered with thick rugs. The TV was on; it was some kind of soap opera. All in all, he found it cozy.

He saw her give him a nervous look and smiled his approval; she relaxed visibly and picked up his bag, hoisting it on her shoulder. "Your room is this way," she said, walking through the doorway from the living room into a hallway he hadn't really noticed. He followed her into a small bedroom done in blue, where she set his bag down on the bedspread. "The bathroom's that door right across the hall there," she said, pointing. "Linen closet is at the end of the hall on the right and we passed the kitchen on the way. My room's next door." She jerked her thumb to the left, away from the living room. "It's bigger, but I don't wanna hear any complaints. I pay the rent, so I get first dibs." She winked and grinned, eliciting a chuckle from Trowa at her sibling-antics. It was all still very awkward, but it felt good inside all the same.

"Are you hungry?" Catherine said, turning around to look at him again as she walked to the doorway, resting her hand on the doorframe. "I can make a late lunch."

Trowa nodded. "Yeah, okay."

She smiled and left the room, humming. Trowa sighed lightly and set to unpacking his meagre belongings.

* * *

After seeing off Heero and Wufei, Quatre decided there was no time like the present to get back to work. While he mostly only did occasional sniper missions for the Maganacs when they needed him, he was more and more often responsible for the planning stages of any new operations they were arranging, since his amazing tactical skills were rare and useful. At the moment, though, there was something more pressing than the 'daily grind' for him to be concerned with. 

Ever since he'd first met Trowa at the Romefeller conference where he'd assassinated Dekim Barton's son, he'd felt that something was a little off. That he should be in this profession for as long as he had and do as many missions as he had, never encountering another agent with the same intentions, and then suddenly be constantly running into four other people in the same highly unique, child soldier-esque situation as him ever since this Operation Zodiac had emerged from the woodwork—Quatre believed in coincidences but this was absolutely ridiculous.

He couldn't say that he thought it was a bad thing that the five boys had been apparently forced together, but someone was clearly leaking his more sensitive information, like the base locations and his planned dates of operations, and the hole needed to be plugged. He had an excellent idea of where to start looking for its source, too: his violin teacher and mentor, H.

He was currently pacing around his bedroom, thinking and muttering to himself. "H, S, J, G, O... Five boys around the same age, who do the same things. Each one knows an old guy, known only by one letter, who acts either like an employer or a mentor or both. Clearly we were part of some program." He flopped down on his bed and sprawled out, his hands covering his face. "This is all so messed up, though. Supposing I ask H, and supposing he actually tells me the truth, which I could never actually count on happening..." The phone on his desk rang, interrupting his brainstorming session. He reached behind him to answer it. "Hello?"

He didn't recognize the quiet voice on the other end at first, and it was muffled and obscured by bursts of static to boot. He frowned at the ceiling, trying to decipher who it was. "...Wufei?" he said suddenly. Wufei's voice sounded lost and disjointed, like he was dizzy or disoriented, but it had an edge of panic to it that carried through the line.

"_What_?" Quatre gasped, reaching with his free hand to cup the receiver under his chin as he sat bolt upright, his eyes going wide with shock. "He—what? Slow down, I can't understand—" But after a second, he did. "Where are you?" he barked into the phone, grabbing a pen and piece of paper off of his desk and scribbling down what Wufei told him. "Help's on the way; stay calm," Quatre said quickly, slamming the phone back into the cradle as he launched himself off of his bed, skidding out into the hallway and taking off at a full-out run with the piece of paper in his hand. "_Rashi-i-i-id!_" he yelled. "We've got a problem!"

* * *

Hilde and Duo arrived back in New York in the middle of the afternoon, and despite the fact that she felt like just going to bed, Hilde went to see the landlord to get her new keys and give him the security deposit as well as her first month's rent. Duo helped her carry her clothes to her new place, which was actually just downstairs and a few doors over from his. It was already partially furnished: the kitchen had all of its major appliances; there was a bed with a mattress as well as a dresser in the bedroom; a couch and antique-looking coffee table sat in the living room. There was no TV or toaster or anything of the sort; she would have to buy those soon. 

After moving all of her things, they collapsed on her couch. Hilde stuffed her hands in her jeans pockets, looking around. "It'll do," she said finally.

Duo shifted. "Your couch isn't any more comfortable than mine," he quipped.

She grinned, but had to cover her mouth when it turned into a yawn. "I'm so tired," she groaned. "I hate jet lag."

Duo stood up. "I'll let you get some sleep then," he said.

Hilde frowned. "I have to go buy some sheets."

Duo waved her off without turning around. "I can donate some of my old ones to the cause until you have the energy to go shopping. I'll be back down in a few," he said, strolling out her door.

"Thanks Duo!" she called after him. When he was gone, she leaned into the back of the couch—_her_ couch—and stared at her hands in her lap. _Thanks for everything...

* * *

_

A/N: Translation notes: Catherine: 'Hello?'; Trowa: 'Pasqua, my dear, it's me, Bartolo.'

And the chapter title is 'Moving' in French. Takes away some of the mystery but oh well.

If my Babelfish Italian fails, please feel free to let me know. My beta fixed some of it already. And then fixed her fixing. The next several chapters plotted themselves out for me while I was on AIM with Link Worshiper. Basically the epiphany outwardly amounted to a lot of spastic capslock yelling on my part. So look forward to the next ten or so chapters, yo. Also, I really just wanna give Hilde a hug. And you, but you knew that already.


	46. Sacrificed a Pawn

A/N: Just would like to note that you can add M rated stories to those C2 things now, so if anyone feels an urge to stick DB on one, have at it. Also, due to popular demand, in this chapter Trowa becomes a transgendered monkey with a back-hair fetish. How will the other G-Boys react! Read on to find out...

Disclaimer: I don't own Gundam Wing, and while I rarely mean anything I say, that much is true.

* * *

Deadly Beautiful – Chapter 46

_by danse

* * *

_

It was lunchtime and Relena was in the crowded, noisy cafeteria as usual. She got her tray with a tuna sandwich and salad and made her way to her regular table in the corner, exchanging smiles or friendly greetings with some of her better acquaintances on the way. Once she was seated at her table, facing the window, she picked up half of her sandwich with one hand and her current reading material in the other (she was reading a lot more frequently now than she ever had), and settled in for another quiet lunch.

Less than two pages later, Dorothy had appeared in the other seat, between Relena and the window. Sunlight from outside framed her body like a halo.

"_The Rise and Fall of Tsarist Russia_?" Dorothy read off of the cover of Relena's book. She wrinkled her nose. "Why not just stick to _Harry Potter_, Relena?" She smiled rather devilishly. "Or do you just watch the movies?"

If Relena had learned anything about Dorothy by now, it was not to encourage her. She took another bite of her sandwich and turned the page.

Dorothy fumed silently at Relena for a moment, looking speculative as she took a sip of Perrier. "It's rude to ignore people when they're speaking to you, you know," she said finally.

Relena sighed forcefully and made eye contact over the top of her book. "What do you want, Dorothy?" she growled.

Dorothy put on an affronted expression. "Such uncouth behaviour!" she gasped, putting a hand over her chest. Almost immediately, though, her expression turned back to its normal, sly look. "I enjoy talking with you, at times," Dorothy explained. "I find your naïve philosophies amusing."

Relena put her book down and glared. "My 'naïve philosophies'?"

Dorothy smiled, showing a glint of pearly teeth. "Yes, of course. All of your wonderfully _droll_ ideas about peace on Earth and 'love thy neighbour' and all that jazz." She giggled. "As if it could ever happen."

"It could!" Relena insisted. "It does! There's _lots_ going on right now to help world peace, and there are a lot of fine people behind the effort! Progress is being made!"

Dorothy's giggle became a snicker, and then matured into a deep, belly laugh that gave Relena chills. "You don't know anything, do you?" she whispered, revelling in her superiority. "You have absolutely no idea what's going on under everybody's nose _right this instant_."

The odds were in Relena's favour that she was going to be enlightened very shortly, so she merely crossed her arms and waited, giving Dorothy an expectant look.

The other girl twirled a lock of her shining hair around a finger as she fixed her quarry with a gaze that any prowling leopard would have accompanied with the licking of its chops. "My father," she said primly, "is General Catalonia of OZ. My grandfather," she said even more primly, "is Dekim Barton, the president of Romefeller Industries, Incorporated. I have cousins," she said with a dismissive hand-wave, "who have more worldly power than you could ever _think_ of wielding over this pathetic little country."

Relena wasn't impressed. Rather than bothering to open her mouth, she used a look to communicate the thought, '_And I care about this _why_, exactly?_'

The girl with all the answers snorted condescendingly, and then leaned forward to brace both hands on the edge of the table as she explained the situation, a happy gleam in her eyes. "I suppose you're not familiar with Romefeller. They're a massive oil conglomerate with holdings all over the world. Grandfather practically has a license to print his own money. But that's not the point. Why settle for taking a few pawns here and there," she said, gesturing at an imaginary chessboard between them, "when you can have the _king?_" She clenched her hand into a fist in front of her, looking like a manic street preacher.

Relaxing, Dorothy flipped her hair back over her shoulder casually, crossing her legs demurely and folding her hands over her knee. "That's where Operation Zodiac comes in," she said. "It was a plan cooked up by Daddy and Grandfather to put the Barton family on the map. It's over ten years in the making, and it's finally about to all come together. There are secret bases operating in strategic locations all over the world, and on one specific day in the very near future—it's already been decided when—they're all going to be mobilized at once." She got a dreamy look on her face. "Each force is poised to strike major cities, military outposts and oil deposits. It'll be the biggest coup d'etat in history. The entire world will fall under the control of OZ, and in turn all of the oil will become the exclusive property of Romefeller. The world powers will have their feet knocked out from under them before they even know what's going on."

Relena had gone deathly pale. She was waiting for the other shoe to drop, waiting for Dorothy to start laughing and tell her it was all an elaborate and sick joke before going back to belittling her some more. But the bitch just sat there and _smiled_. It took several tries for Relena to form coherent words. "You aren't _serious_?" she mumbled dumbly.

Dorothy gave her hair another flip, the afternoon sun making it shine like it was itself a sunbeam. Her eyes were murderous-looking and so cold, like chips of ice in her beautiful face. There was something terribly _wrong_ with her. "Of course I'm serious, Relena darling," she tittered. "Why would I ever invent something so ingenious just to anger someone as _inconsequential_ as you?"

Relena stood up abruptly, grabbed her bag and book, and left the cafeteria, abandoning her lunch with Dorothy, who was shaking with contained mirth.

* * *

After the Maganacs had mobilized a search party to Turkey, with Quatre and Rashid at the head, it took about two hours to pinpoint the highway that Wufei had tried to describe to Quatre on the phone, another half an hour to find the place where the car had gone off the road, and then close to an hour for Quatre and a Maganac with a first-aid kit to track down Wufei in the brush below the edge of the cliff. Quatre's radio squawked intermittently with the voices of the search parties who were scouring the area for a trace of Heero. Quatre stayed with Wufei, wrapping him in a blanket and giving him a thermos of hot coffee to warm up as he and the Maganac checked him out for injuries. He seemed to have a concussion and a fractured wrist, as well as several minor cuts and bruises, but otherwise he was okay.

Three hours later, after Wufei had been escorted carefully up to one of the Hummers, buckled in, and given a painkiller for the trip home, they still hadn't found Heero. One of the three-man search teams said they'd found a few drops of blood, fifty metres downhill from the car wreck, but nothing more promising than that turned up. Feeling useless, they had to break up the search when they heard the beats of helicopter blades beyond the hillside. As much as the Maganacs cared for the welfare of Quatre's cohorts, they wanted nothing to do with police of any kind, and it was feeling more and more like a lost cause. They left.

Upon returning to their headquarters and handing Wufei over to Iria's capable hands, Quatre found his book of contact information and seated himself in front of one of the high-sensitivity secure lines, feeling old as he flipped through the book. B came before M; he dialled Trowa's emergency contact number first. He knew that it was Cathy's phone he was calling. He listened patiently to the rings, counting them silently. After three, a female voice answered. "_Pronto?"_

Quatre's mouth went dry; it had suddenly occurred to him that he didn't speak a single word of Italian and that he didn't know if Catherine knew anything else. "...Trowa?" he said finally, feeling stupid.

There was a pause on the other end of the phone. He suddenly knew that he'd said the wrong thing, and he braced himself to be hung up on, but he could faintly hear a man's voice murmuring something on the other end of the line. Catherine replied, her voice muffled, most likely by her hand over the receiver, and then he heard Trowa's voice, mercifully, speaking to him. "Quatre?" he said.

"Yes, it's me," Quatre responded, wondering if his relief was audible. He sobered up immediately, though, not wanting to waste Trowa's time. "I have some bad news."

"What is it?" Trowa asked, sounding alarmed.

Quatre took a deep breath, staring at the wall opposite him. "Heero and Wufei were in Turkey, and they had a bad car accident. Really bad. I-I saw the car, it was totalled. Went off a cliff."

On Trowa's end of the line, tense silence filled the room. "Are they all right?" he demanded. Quatre's wavering tone was putting up his hackles, and Catherine approached his elbow hesitantly, hearing the stress in his voice even though she couldn't understand the words. He lightly flapped a hand at her, and she backed off with worry on her face as he tried to pay attention to Quatre.

"Wufei is alright," Quatre answered. "He's back at headquarters, and Iria's looking at him. He has a concussion, but that's about it, we think."

"And Heero?" Trowa prompted, feeling a cold lump in his stomach already.

"Vanished," Quatre said simply. "We searched for over three hours around the scene, and there was no sign of a body or anything. There was a little bit of blood, but that got us nowhere. I have no idea what happened to him."

Trowa sagged against the wall, the phone held limply against his ear as he stared at the kitchen ceiling. How could something like this have happened so soon? It felt like they'd barely started this... this _war_, and there was a casualty already? What was it going to _end_ like? Dimly, Trowa brought his mind back to the conversation. "How did it happen? The roads couldn't have been that bad; it's July!"

"Wufei told me they were being followed. Chased, actually. He said he thought it was people from OZ, and he's probably right, but we can't be sure." Quatre sounded tired.

"So what you're trying to tell me here, is that we've been compromised?" Trowa asked. "There must have been someone near the Maganac base, someone who followed them. How else would they have been tracked down in Turkey?"

"It's occurred to me, yes," Quatre answered. "The Maganacs are also aware of the issue and are prepared for any chance of being discovered. It's an occupational hazard; they've been in that base for nearly ten years and their number was just about up as it was."

Silence fell over the two boys then. It stretched painfully for a few moments until they broke it almost simultaneously. "Trowa..." Quatre started.

"Have you gotten ahold of Duo yet?" Trowa asked overtop of the other teen's hesitant start.

"...No, I haven't," Quatre said quietly. "I was going to call him after talking to you, actually."

"Well then, I won't keep you any longer," Trowa said. "Let me know if anything develops. About Heero, you know."

"Will do," Quatre said, sounding suddenly brisk. "Well. Goodbye."

"'Bye." Trowa hung up, sighed, and turned to tell his sister the news.

* * *

After hanging up on Trowa, Quatre spent several minutes just staring at the phone in front of him. His mind felt blank. He was emotionless. _Sometimes life feels like such a waste..._ Finally, giving his head a shake, he picked up the phone again and flipped through his little book to the 'M' section, searching for Duo's contact number.

* * *

Duo had just gotten back to his own place, after helping Hilde move in the TV she'd gotten from someone at work, when he heard his cell phone ringing on the kitchen counter. He frowned as he ran toward it; it was a new phone and only a handful of people had the number, including Hilde and Quatre. G did not know of the phone's existence, hopefully. "Hello?" he said after flipping it open.

"Hi Duo, it's Quatre."

A sinking feeling made itself known in Duo's stomach. "Hey, Q, what can I do for ya?"

"I hope I didn't catch you at a bad time. I-I have news. Bad news." Quatre sounded kind of guilty.

"Let's hear it," Duo said, not really wanting to hear it.

"Well," the Arabic teenager started, "Heero and Wufei left late yesterday morning for France. They went to Istanbul to rent a car... and they were followed."

Duo refused to let his imagination run away with him until Quatre was finished. He listened to the other boy telling the story quietly, although his grip on the phone was rather stronger than it needed to be.

"Wufei's a little muddled, so we don't know all the details for sure yet," Quatre continued, "but they had a bad car accident. It went over the side of a cliff."

_'Wufei's a little muddled...'_ Duo's knees started to shake, and he sank to the floor without knowing it. "...How bad?" he managed. His voice sounded strangely calm.

"The car was totalled; it was wrapped around a tree," Quatre answered remorsefully.

"Wh-what's the story with Heero, then, if Wufei's alive?" He paused, pressing his lips together into a thin line. "Did they find his body?"

"We couldn't find a trace of Heero anywhere near the car," Quatre said.

Duo opened his eyes again at this news. "Well, then he must be still alive, right? He's gotta be hiding out around there somewhere! Why haven't you found him yet?"

There was a lengthy pause on the other end of the line. "All we found anywhere on that hillside was a few drops of blood that might not have even been his. Wufei doesn't remember the crash itself and he has no idea what happened to Heero." Quatre had to raise his voice to override Duo's protests. He sounded strangely gentle. "Duo, nearly twenty Maganacs, myself and Rashid included, searched the area today. We were looking for over _three hours_. We couldn't find him."

Duo scratched his nose as he glared at the refrigerator. "Well, if you can't find a body, then he must be still alive. I refuse to believe that he could be dead, especially if Wufei was alright. It takes a hell of a lot more than a car accident to kill Heero Yuy," Duo snapped.

Another pause from Quatre. "I'll let you know if anything else develops," he said softly. Duo heard a dial tone.

He snapped his phone shut absently as he continued to stare at the fridge. Suddenly, with a scream of rage, he hurled the phone at the white, metal door and watched it bounce off with a bang, skidding across the floor to the living room. Duo sank back against the cupboards behind him, staring blankly at nothing in particular as his eyes started to itch. Despite what he'd just said to Quatre about Heero being invincible, he didn't really believe it himself. Not really.

After all, for all of their collective bravado, they were only children.

* * *

A/N: Don't throw your cell phone at the fridge, kids, it probably won't survive. As for me, I'm moving across the country in a couple days, yay. 


	47. The Lost Boys

A/N: School once again starts eating all my free time and brain power. Le sigh.

Disclaimer: I can't afford Gundam Wing. I can't even afford a decent chair to replace this ghetto, falling-apart one. So please, think of the children (me). Please don't sue me for my use of it, even though I didn't get permission.

* * *

Deadly Beautiful – Chapter 47

_by danse

* * *

_

As he sat in the kitchen with his morning coffee, Trowa mused absently that it was somewhat odd that someone should be knocking on the front door at this hour. He heard Catherine moving toward the door to answer it though, so he stayed in his seat and didn't think much more about it.

Until he heard Catherine yell.

He was out of the chair and into the front entrance of the apartment before he really processed what was going on, and, at the same time that he realized he should have heard the buzzer from downstairs before he heard the knock, he saw who was at the door. He remembered that he was still holding a mug full of hot coffee and was able to rescue it before his grip went slack and he dropped it all over his feet.

"Heero, what the _fuck_ are you doing here?" he cried.

The tired, beat-up, dirty young man in the entrance was still on his own two feet, but barely. He was starting to lean on the doorframe for support, and his legs clearly didn't have much power left in them. He looked up at Trowa, his blue eyes pained and exhausted. "Think I can stay here for a bit?" he mumbled.

Catherine, who had been absolutely speechless right up to this point, found words again. "Trowa, who the hell is this kid? What is he doing here? Were you _telling_ people where we were hiding?" She looked enraged, and Trowa was briefly glad there was nothing nearby for her to throw.

Trowa sighed, but just as he was about to explain the awkward situation to her, Heero answered her in perfect Italian. "I'm... an associate of his. I was in a bad accident and I found my way here. Trowa didn't tell me where you were; I tracked him down."

Trowa wanted to know _how_ his strange 'associate' had managed that, as well as why _he'd_ been bestowed with the 'honour' of finding a dead man suddenly on his doorstep, when Heero probably would have had an easier time tracking down any of the other three.

As if reading his mind, Heero looked at Trowa searchingly, and then spoke to him in Italian, presumably so Catherine could understand and not get hostile again. "Don't worry about it; I don't think anyone else could have found you," he said. Trowa wondered if he could have made that sound any more arrogant if he'd tried. "I came here because Quatre's place is clearly already compromised, Wufei might be dead, and Duo's on the wrong continent."

_Of course_, Trowa thought, realizing that Heero had his sane moments. "Wufei is still alive. He's doing alright," Trowa answered. "Everyone thinks _you're_ dead, though."

Heero's eyes widened briefly, but then he nodded slowly, once. "That explains why you were so shocked to see me," he said quietly, possibly not intending for Trowa to hear him. "About that," he said more loudly, looking up at Trowa again. "Can you keep this to yourself for a little longer? I just..."

Trowa raised his free hand to silence the half-dead boy. "Whatever you wish," he answered. Then he frowned. "How long do you want to stay here? How bad of shape are you in?" he asked.

Heero pressed his lips together into a line, looking pained. He slumped a little more against the doorframe. "I haven't slept three hours in total in the past three days since the accident," he said. "I think I have a concussion. Cuts and bruises all over. I also broke my right arm." Trowa noticed for the first time that the arm in question was hanging limply at Heero's side. "I haven't had the strength to set it myself," he explained, almost apologetically.

"Why haven't you been to a doctor?" Catherine exclaimed suddenly, stepping forward somewhat from the sidelines. "Are you crazy? You'll catch fever!"

Guilt flashed across Heero's face. _Too late_, Trowa thought, interpreting the brief show of emotion. Sparing a brief glance at Catherine, who looked less angry and more worried now, he took a step forward, setting down his coffee mug on a nearby shelf. "Heero, you can stay here as long as you need," he said. "You've already died once; we don't need it happening again."

"Thank--" was all Heero managed to say before he fainted suddenly. Trowa leaped forward and caught his teammate before he hit the tiled floor, noting with alarm that Heero was as light as a small child in his arms. Then again, titanium was surprisingly light, too. Catherine shook her head ruefully, but led the way down the hall to Trowa's room. Trowa picked Heero up and, being careful of the broken arm, carried him to the waiting bed, pulling off Heero's dirty sneakers before tucking him in.

"When he wakes up, we'll look after the injuries and give him a bath," Trowa's sister said stiffly from the doorway. "I'm going to call a doctor to get that arm and the concussion looked at. Meanwhile, make sure he doesn't move around too much in his sleep and hurt himself more." She disappeared into the kitchen without another word. Trowa pulled a chair from the corner and sat down beside the bed with a book, feeling the bite of her frigidness.

When she returned ten minutes later with a fresh cup of coffee and a hot water bottle, though, he smiled just a little.

* * *

It was the third day since Duo had found out the horrible news about Heero and told Hilde about it, and she was noticing with considerable alarm that his mental state only appeared to be getting worse. She looked at him over the top of her cereal bowl, taking in his bloodshot eyes and the puffy shadows developing underneath them; his messy, unattended hair, flying out of its braid at all angles; the coffee cup barely balanced in his hand; the way he was slouching against the kitchen counter with all of his weight, staring at a spot of nothingness near his hand. _Dollars to donuts, he hasn't slept three hours in three nights,_ she thought ruefully. She took a sip of orange juice, studying him carefully, and then put down her glass a bit loudly as she steeled herself to make a suggestion. 

"Duo."

"...Mmh?" he grunted a bit latently, still staring at nothing.

She picked up her spoon again and started playing with it as she talked. "I think maybe you should go see a doctor."

"...Why?" He looked up at her this time, a suspicious expression on his face.

Hilde put down her spoon again and gave him a level look. "I know it hasn't been long and I know that you're probably having a hard time right now, but I think you should go see a doctor and see if they'll give you pills. You're going to crash badly if you don't get rest, especially with the things you do, and I really don't see you suddenly getting better anytime soon."

His expression darkened more. "I'm _fine_. I don't need to see a doctor, and I don't need to go on any goddamn pills."

Her expression darkened to match. "What are you gonna do, then? Go on like this for weeks until you either get sick, go crazy, or turn into a zombie? Jesus Christ, I'm only talking about a pill to help you sleep. You do dangerous work, Duo; you're going to get killed if you don't look after yourself!"

"...It's only been three days," he growled. "I'm a big boy and I've lasted this long without a mommy, so I think I can pull myself together enough to function, _thanks_." His tone couldn't have been more acidic.

Hilde gnawed on the inside of her cheek for a moment as she glared daggers at him, trying not to lose control with someone who was not only dangerous, but also possibly feeling unstable and emotional. Finally her self-control won out, and she sighed. "I'm just trying to help you," she pleaded. "Is it wrong to care about your well-being? I mean, who else do you have to turn to right now? I understand what you're going through--"

"No, you don't." His voice was quiet, but he could have screamed it and had the same effect. The room went deathly silent and almost felt cold. Hilde got off of her stool slowly and deliberately, her face stony even as her hands, clenched into fists, quivered at her sides like they wanted very badly to break something. Preferably something attached to Duo.

"You're right," she said stiffly. "You're absolutely right, as usual, Duo. I mean, what do _I_ know about losing loved ones?"

As she left, she slammed the front door so hard behind her that her abandoned cereal bowl rattled on the counter.

Left alone in the achingly silent apartment, Duo stared at the door, not quite comprehending yet what had just happened. Finally, blinking hard and pressing his lips together into a thin line, he picked up all of the dirty dishes from the counter and dumped them noisily into the sink before stumbling back into his room to collapse on the bed. He knew sleep wasn't coming, but he had to try anyway.

* * *

A/N: Bwahahahahaaaaa so much ANGST. I love it. Please comment. 


	48. An Attempt to Move On

A/N: Happy birthday to youuuu, happy birthday to youuu, happy slightly-belated-third-birthday Deadly Beautifulllll, happy birthday to you!

Disclaimer: I don't own them and I don't want to. I have a new chair now though. :D

* * *

Deadly Beautiful – Chapter 48

_by danse

* * *

_

Quatre Winner was a brilliant tactician, and he knew it. It wasn't egotism—he wasn't cut out for that—but after hearing the same compliment over and over for most of one's life, anyone with a sense of self-worth will start to take to heart that maybe it just might be true.

So Quatre knew he was skilled at strategizing.

That was doing nothing for him right now.

In the span of a few short weeks, he'd: developed a crush that he'd known he shouldn't have; had it confirmed to him that it was a hopeless case; dealt with the failure of Heero and Duo on an extremely important mission; dealt with the repercussions following it, including an unsuccessful search for the possibly-dead Heero; essentially lost all contact with all of his new friends, Trowa most importantly; discovered that his childhood mentor was sneaking around behind his back and doing shady things for reasons unfathomable; and suffered the realization that his long-term hiding place with the Maganacs had been compromised and now had to be uprooted and moved somewhere else. Now, finally, he was slouched on his bed (one of the straggling pieces of furniture in the slowly-vanishing Maganac compound) with his shoulders hunched and dark circles under his eyes from insomnia, rereading the letter in his lap for what had to be the hundredth time.

It was from his father. H had delivered it to him.

'_Dear Quatre_,' it said. '_Your old violin instructor unexpectedly showed up at my office today. He told me a little (far from everything, I'm sure) of your current situation. I understand that your colleague Rashid and his cohorts have been discovered and are now in the process of relocating. H expressed to me his beliefs that your sister Iria was probably considering leaving the group, as it would be somewhat more convenient to do it while they move themselves to a new home. I asked him if this meant that you would be leaving as well, but for all that he claims to know you, he could not be sure._

_'Quatre, my dear son, I realize as your father, after all that our family has suffered through, that perhaps you feel a little distant towards me, and that perhaps Iria shares the same feelings.' _Quatre couldn't help but raise an eyebrow at this._ 'However, for all of our disagreements, we are blood, and I would like you and your sister both to seriously consider returning to the family home. Your sisters miss you both and would all be thrilled to see you again. As would I. Your rooms are still the same as when you left. Well, I know I cannot convince you to return if you don't want to; people say you take after me in that respect. At least consider it, please.' I will be sending this letter with H when he returns to your group.' _He'd proceeded to sign it with his middle initial included, probably by reflex.

Sighing heavily, Quatre thrust the slightly crumpled letter down on the bed at his side, flopping onto his back to stare at the plain ceiling. His mouth twisted. _So after two years, he wants me to go home. And Iria too. Why the sudden change? Then again,_ he thought, _probably nothing has changed. It's probably just round two of 'Bring Your Future Company Executives Home'._

He sprawled in the same position and gnawed on his lip for a few moments, listening to his own breathing, and then heaved himself off of the bed to go find his sister.

* * *

It didn't take Quatre long to find Iria. She was in the infirmary, kneeling on the floor and searching through cupboards, when he walked in and cleared his throat loudly. She jumped, smacking her head on the top of the cupboard. Quatre winced and ran forward to help her. 

"Sorry, Iria. Are you okay?"

His older sister squinted at him and frowned as she rubbed the top of her head. "You startled me," she muttered, crawling away from the cupboard and sitting down ungracefully on the floor. She looked up at Quatre. "What are you doing in here?" she asked. She glanced at his face, and then frowned again. "Quatre, have you been getting enough sleep lately?"

He swallowed guiltily. "I'm fine," he said, waving her off. "I was looking for you. Thought I'd find you in here." He grinned.

She gestured at the clipboard she'd left on the counter. "Well, I'm doing inventory of the medical supplies for the Maganacs, so we can move it all out of here. I should have it done in a few hours, I think..." She gave the clipboard a brief, thoughtful look before turning her attention back to her brother. "What were you looking for me for?" she asked as she hauled herself to her feet.

Quatre sat on one of the beds, gnawing at his lip absently again. "I needed to talk to you. I, uh... Father sent me a letter." He sighed.

Iria, whose back was to him as she simultaneously listened and totalled numbers, visibly stiffened as she turned around. She immediately crossed the room and sat on the next bed, facing Quatre. "He sent you one too, huh?" she said ruefully, tucking a loose lock of hair behind her ear.

He locked eyes with her. "I'm going to assume that they said the same things."

"He wants me to go home," she answered. She got up again, going back to her clipboard. "Apparently your instructor, H, has a very big mouth, and informed Father on who-knows-what sort of visit that the Maganacs were moving and that I wasn't sure what I was going to do." Her tone was bitter. She had never been a fan of Instructor H.

Quatre studied her back, not at all offended by the slight against his former mentor. After all, he was not presently in Quatre's good books, either. "So?" he prompted.

"So, what?"

Quatre rolled his eyes. "So, is it true? _Are_ you leaving the Maganacs? Are you going back home?"

"Oh, Quatre, I don't know," she sighed, opening an overhead cupboard and then writing something down on her clipboard. "I've certainly enjoyed my time with Rashid's group, and I've learned quite a lot..."

"But?"

She frowned. "...But, I've been here nearly two years now. I'm starting to feel like it's time to move on and try something new." She turned to face Quatre and smiled slightly. "Maybe I can finally figure out a way to get into medical school and be a real doctor."

Quatre studied her face silently. "Maybe Father is ready to forgive us, and he'll actually pay for you to go to medical school."

She scoffed. "When pigs fly! Little Brother, you don't actually mean to tell me that you think our father has actually _forgiven_ us? No, he wants us to go back home and say we've come to our senses, and that, yes, we'd like to join the Winner Corporation alongside all of our sisters who haven't been married off to young, male executives _of_ the Winner Corporation." She shook her head. "No, he hasn't given up yet. He's a Winner; he's genetically incapable of giving in." Fuming, Iria tapped her pen irritably on the immaculate countertop as she glared out the small window at a courtyard.

Abruptly, Quatre started to laugh. Iria gave him an incredulous look, which made him laugh harder. "Don't you see?" he gasped out. "That's our problem too..." He burst out in another fit of giggles, leaning back on the bed. God, he was exhausted. This shouldn't have been so funny. It was true, though, as his father had said in his letter: the Winners had a stubborn streak. Eventually the fit of laughter died, and Quatre was contemplative and silent again as Iria continued to do her inventory. He could hear the faint sounds of people talking in the hallway.

Quatre's world had never really been normal or safe, but living here, with the Maganacs, had felt like a real home to him. He'd had a routine here, and he was encouraged to do the things that he wanted to do; he could make a difference in the world around him in whatever way suited him best. The Maganacs hadn't dissolved now that their current home was compromised—far from it—but they had to pack it all up and leave, and go find a new place to hide. Despite what Rashid protested to the contrary about the necessity of changing location once in a while, and how they had been getting too comfortable in one location for so long, Quatre felt guilty that this was all entirely his fault. He hadn't wanted to jeopardize anyone's safety, especially not those he cared about. He also couldn't help but think that his presence might not be wanted by a number of the Maganacs at wherever they set up camp next. He knew that he probably wouldn't appreciate having someone around who had a history of putting him and his loved ones in danger.

The problem was that he had nowhere else to go.

"So are you...?" Quatre asked softly.

Iria sighed just as softly. "...Probably," she muttered.

Quatre nodded even though she couldn't see it, and then got up to leave without another word. He was going to go find Rashid and help lift things for a while. It was simpler.

* * *

Despite the fact that he lived alone again, Duo had still just barricaded himself in the bathroom as if he was afraid of being discovered. He stood in the middle of the small room, glaring at the counter and hugging himself as he shuffled awkwardly from foot to foot. His hair stuck out in disarray from his messy braid and he wore an old t-shirt and boxers. The greyish, faded black of his shirt matched the colour of the dark circles under his eyes—he hadn't had a decent night's sleep in eight days, now. He couldn't even make it through an afternoon nap to fend off some of the tiredness, and since he'd informally quit his job, he spent his days staring lifelessly at the TV in a state of semi-awareness. Hilde had given up talking to him two days ago. 

Today, however, he'd forced himself to put on clean clothes and go outside. He hadn't been able to put it off any longer than he already had. Not trusting his senses enough to drive, he'd gotten on the bus to go to the doctor. Half an hour of adult discussion and childish, desperate pleading later, he'd gone to the closest drug store to fill his prescription.

Duo stared at the bottle of sleeping pills on his bathroom counter as if it was going to come alive and bite him.

Finally, he shook his head angrily, his hair flopping around. "Jesus Christ, Maxwell, get ahold of yourself," he growled, reaching forward suddenly and snatching the pill bottle from the counter before he could think too much more about it. The pills rattled as he tilted the bottle to read the label. '_Take one daily with water to ease suffering caused by sleeping problems'._ Frowning thoughtfully, he popped the lid off of the bottle and shook a pill out into his hand to examine it. It was a small, round, whitish pill with '_ME_' engraved onto one side, and '_100_' on the other. He put the bottle back down on the counter as he contemplated the little pill. It really was awfully small.

Duo clenched the pill in his fist as he turned on the cold water tap and filled an empty glass from beside the sink. Closing his eyes and taking a deep, steady breath, he took a sip of water and swallowed the pill, his throat working slowly and deliberately. After finishing off the glass of water, he put the cap back on the pill bottle and stared at himself in the mirror. A broken, exhausted boy stared right back.

_These pills better work,_ he thought as he shut off the bathroom light and trudged down the hall to his bedroom. He hoped that Hilde would never find out that he'd actually listened to her advice, either.

* * *

A/N: Look, I'm really not dead! Just busy! So for those of you who don't already know about it, I started a new fic of story-length, and it's called _Les Ombres Rebelles_. It's a yaoi schoolfic (but not like you might be thinking), and there is a lot of violence and sex and death and yay. If you like the darker aspects of DB, you might like Ombres, because it's like DB, but _more so_. So check it out if you're into that, yeah. Thanks kids! 


	49. Wufei's Motivations

Disclaimer: It's Christmas time yet again; I could ask for the ownership of Gundam Wing which I don't have, but I won't get it. Santa would rather deal out material goods than legal documents.

* * *

Deadly Beautiful – Chapter 49

_by danse

* * *

_

Hilde may have had nearly infinite patience, but Duo was starting to wear it out. She marched out of his apartment and slammed the door sharply behind her, more than willing to put a few walls between them for the next little while. As she turned to her left to go down the stairs, grumpily lost in thought, she nearly ran right into a guy about her age. She stopped short, blushing, and blinked up at his face, but her apology froze on her lips. He was Chinese, and she knew him from somewhere. Given Hilde's colourful past as a prostitute, recognizing men from somewhere was not generally a good thing for her. She backed up a step, muscles tensing, and squinted at him. "Do I know you?" she asked warily, racking her brain.

He smiled and extended his hand for her to shake. "Chang Wufei," he answered, his voice also familiar. "We met in the desert."

Immediately, her memory of meeting him and the rest of Duo's... _friends_... in Saudi Arabia came back to her, and she pressed her palm against her forehead as she blushed with embarrassment. "Of _course,_" she giggled, "Wufei. Yes, of course I remember you! Sorry, I just wasn't thinking to associate... you guys... with, um, the real world." She grinned sheepishly.

Wufei chuckled. "It's alright," he said. "It's kind of rare for me to do this, but I was in town, and I decided to come see how Duo was doing." He pointed towards Duo's door.

Hilde looked back at the closed door and frowned. It was highly probable that Duo was going to throw something at the next person through the door, considering the mood she'd left him in. He'd been extremely temperamental lately, and they'd started having arguments almost every time Hilde came to see him. On the plus side, he seemed to be sleeping again. She turned back to Wufei. "Well, um. I wouldn't recommend going in there right at the moment. Duo and I just had a bit of a disagreement, and he might try to kill you if you get on his bad side." She smiled apologetically.

Wufei nodded once, slowly, in understanding. "I don't think I've ever been on his _good_ side, so I'll heed your advice," he said. As Hilde nodded and started to walk away, she heard him call after her again. "Hilde!"

She froze in surprise, schooled a smile onto her face, and turned around. "Yeah."

He leaned against the wall, his arms crossed over his chest. "Where are you off to? I thought you lived with him."

"Oh, no, I live downstairs," she said. "I'm gonna go back there and get some lunch." She paused, debating how intelligent it would be to voice her next thought. "Would you like to, um, join me? I can make coffee," she said.

Wufei grinned and pushed away from the wall to walk towards her. He moved with the grace of a tiger. "Sure, that sounds good," he said.

Feeling a little nervous about talking to one of Duo's group one-on-one, she turned and led him downstairs to her apartment for lunch.

* * *

Wufei surreptitiously checked his ever-present beeper again as he followed the girl down the dusty stairwell. Despite the fact that he hadn't wanted to come check up on that idiot Duo at _all_, this was turning out to be a better mission than he'd expected.

Wufei had gone off to France as soon as he could get away from Quatre's Nazi-doctor sister to pick up Treize's cold trail again, but just when he thought he might have had a solid lead, Master O had contacted him with an order to go to the US and meet one of his English-speaking underlings in Boston for a briefing on a new assignment.

It had been just his luck that Quatre would contact him _on the same day_ to ask if he could possibly spare any time in the next couple of weeks to go check up on Duo, who Quatre apparently thought wasn't old enough to deal with life on his own without a caretaker. Wufei had been _so close_ to saying no, he couldn't, but guilt had taken over at the last minute, and he'd agreed to visit that stupid American bastard and then give Quatre a full report on his condition. God only knew how Quatre had managed to obtain his home address, but Wufei was smart enough to realize by now that he shouldn't put anything past that boy.

But yes, it had definitely turned out better than he'd hoped. Not only did he have an excuse not to talk to Duo at all, but now he was also getting a free lunch with a cute girl who Quatre would no doubt consider a reliable source of information about how Duo was feeling. As if it really mattered.

Hilde stopped at the door to her floor with her hand on the doorknob, turning to him. "Hey, how did you find out where Duo lived, anyway? And how did you get in the building?"

Wufei raised his eyebrows. _It shouldn't surprise me that she's asking me this,_ he thought. _From the way Duo was singing her praises, it should surprise me that she didn't ask me this right after my name._ Mentally cataloguing that for later, he shrugged and made up a more acceptable answer than, 'Quatre is all-knowing'. "We all know each other's locations, just in case. And I got in when I carried up some lady's groceries for her. I told her that I lived on the third floor." He'd actually just climbed the fire escape at the back and jimmied open a window on the second floor landing, which beat the hell out of asking for anyone's help.

Hilde smirked. "I did that once, too," she said, pulling the door open.

_Say something charming, so she'll talk to you about Duo._ "Must be fate," he deadpanned as he followed her to her front door. She giggled.

* * *

"So how is Duo doing, anyway?" Wufei asked, shifting in his seat at Hilde's kitchen table, a steaming cup of coffee in his hand. His eyes tracked Hilde as she breezed around the kitchen between the fridge, counter, and cupboards, making sandwiches.

Hilde paused with the fridge door open, her hand frozen in the process of reaching for a head of lettuce. She backed out, shut the door, and leaned against it, the lettuce forgotten. "He's..." She chewed her lip thoughtfully, trying to think of a graceful way to express it. "He's been better," she said finally. "Heero's death or disappearance or whatever—it hit him pretty hard," she continued, striding back over to the bread and roast beef on the counter and fiddling absently with the knife as she frowned.

Wufei raised an eyebrow, not understanding at all. "What? I mean, sure, it's sad, but he hardly knew Heero anyway. People die all the time, and sometimes they die doing dangerous things. Life goes on."

Hilde stared at him. "Wufei... do you really think that Heero is dead?" she asked quietly.

He fidgeted. He wanted to lie, but he felt like he had to be honest with her. "I know he had to be alive right after the accident, because he was nowhere anywhere close to the car. Forget being thrown clear—he was _gone._ But, did he survive after getting away? I'm not so sure. It's very possible that he died from his injuries." Wufei cocked his head and raised his eyebrows bemusedly as he raised his coffee cup to his lips again. "Or, maybe he's just in hiding, for some asinine reason," he said before taking a sip.

Hilde looked down at the half-finished sandwiches, remembered the lettuce, and went back to the fridge to get it. She put it down on the counter a little forcefully and then abandoned all of it to sink into the chair across from Wufei. "The problem, here," she said finally, "is that Duo is--" she swallowed, "--in love with Heero."

Wufei's jaw dropped, and he stared at her in shock. Realizing that his cup was still in his hand, he distractedly put it down on the table and stared some more. "I'm sorry," he said. "Did I hear you correctly just now? Duo is... he _loves__Heero?_"

Hilde nodded, and Wufei sat back in his chair, shaking his head at the ceiling in wonderment. Suddenly a lot of things made sense, including Duo's strange mood swing that had set in after his and Heero's failed mission (something had clearly happened there), and possibly also why Hilde now had her own, separate living space, after he'd gotten the impression that she lived with Duo. He flicked a glance at her out of the corner of his eye, as she got up to finish making their sandwiches. Yes, a lot of things were clearing up, now. But, goddammit, what was _with_ these people and being _gay?_ He'd ended up in a bad crowd. Unfortunately, he was more or less stuck, now.

Wufei's train of thought was interrupted when Hilde set down a tasty-looking sandwich in front of him, plopping back into the other seat with her own and a fresh cup of coffee. They ate in silence for a few moments, and then Wufei set down his sandwich, washing down his last bite with coffee, and steepled his chin on his fingers as he watched her. "So," he said, "how did you end up here?"

His question startled her, but she hid it well as she swallowed her food. "Um, well... Duo and I just kind of ran into each other one day, and it went from there." She gestured vaguely.

The young Chinese man gave her a nonplussed look. "That's a weak story," he commented.

Hilde blushed. "Oh, come on... It's a long story..." she tried.

He shrugged. "I have time."

She frowned, and then sighed in defeat. What was the harm in it anyway? She didn't even know him; she shouldn't care what he might think about her. "Do you want me to start from the beginning?" she asked snappishly. When he gestured in the affirmative, she proceeded to tell him her life story, much in the same way she'd told it to Duo, looking down at the table and shredding a piece of lettuce sticking out of her sandwich as she spoke. "...And he let me stay at his place, and that was all well and good, but when I got a job and some money, I decided it was time for me to stop freeloading and move out of there. I moved in here about two weeks ago now, I guess," she finished. She looked up at Wufei, afraid of what she'd see on his face. Orphan, runaway, petty thief, prostitute... she certainly had it all.

To her surprise, Wufei just smiled lightly at her when their eyes met. "Sounds like you've had a time of it," he said softly.

She snorted, suddenly wanting to cry. She took a big gulp of her cooling coffee to give herself time to calm down, and then took another bite of her sandwich. Another period of slightly more comfortable silence stretched over them, and then she worked up the nerve to ask her strange guest a question. "So, Wufei, since you've just made me tell you my whole shameful life story, can I ask you an obnoxious question in return?" she said, smiling playfully.

He smirked around his coffee before getting up to refill his cup. "I suppose that's fair," he said, turning to face her with the decanter in one hand and his mug in the other. "What would you like to know?"

"What's your motivation for working with Duo and the other three?"

Her question was at least as startling as his had been. He frowned at her as he returned to his chair. "That's classified information, you know," he answered.

Hilde raised an eyebrow.

Wufei met her unimpressed gaze and they had a brief staring contest, a battle of wills. She won. Pushing his half-eaten sandwich away, Wufei put his face in his hands and rubbed it as if he was tired. "I'm after one specific man. I'm going to get revenge on him."

"For what?" Hilde leaned forward excitedly; this kind of thing only happened in movies.

"For killing my wife," he answered.

It was Hilde's turn to go slack-jawed with shock. "_You were married?_" she nearly screeched. "But—you can't be any older than me! How does that _work_?"

Wufei smiled tightly, looking at the middle of the table fixedly. "It was an arranged marriage; she and I were both from old, old warrior clans. They still do this kind of thing in China sometimes, believe it or not. Anyway, we weren't actually married yet, but we were officially engaged." His expression became wistful, but he kept looking resolutely at the table. "Meilan had a warrior's heart, if anyone did. We were both stubborn as hell and we fought a lot, but underneath that... there was something more. In retrospect, it was a good match, it really was." He cleared his throat, shifting awkwardly. Hilde thought she saw colour rising in his cheeks.

"So, when we were barely in our teens, OZ appeared in our home province, planning to install its presence there permanently with a base of some kind. I was more apathetic about it, but Meilan wanted them gone, like a lot of people. And she believed in violence for justice, if it came to that.

"An old _shifu_ of mine, from when I was training in martial arts as a little kid, he was in this resistance movement that had started up against OZ. I really didn't want anything to do with it, but Meilan was all riled up about it, so we joined. I went with her to keep an eye on her; she had a tendency to risk her neck impulsively. This was when we were about thirteen. It was fine for a while, when we were just going to meetings of this resistance movement and meeting with Master O again. He taught us both how to use firearms and explosives and all that." Wufei paused his story briefly and glanced up at Hilde, who was watching in rapt attention, ignoring her food. He looked back down at the table, playing with his fingernails.

"S-so she had just turned fourteen—she was eight months younger than me—when we went on this operation to sabotage the new OZ compound that was being built. We were all in disguise, our faces covered by black masks. Since we were the two smallest people in the group, she and I had to go in through some air ducts to set explosives, while everyone else kept watch for us. It went fine until we were ready to leave." Wufei stopped again, taking a deep, shuddering breath.

"Long story short, we ended up having to run for it. There was this fence with barbed wire at the top, around the perimeter. O and another guy had cut a hole in it so that we could get in and out. But between our exit point from the building, and the fence, there was something like ten metres of open, unprotected ground. We just had to duck and run for it. OZ soldiers were everywhere with guns, there was a lot of shouting and gunfire.

"I was holding Meilan's hand and we were running full out for the hole in the fence. Just about everybody else was already on the other side, running away or beckoning to us. About halfway across the open space, she tripped and fell. I felt her let go of my hand and turned around to help her up, but she yelled at me to keep going, a-and I did. Just as she got to her feet, a lieutenant shot her in the back." He squeezed his eyes shut, his hands clenching into fists in his lap as he remembered it. His voice was still composed, but barely. "I would have gone back and grabbed her, but O came back through the fence and dragged me out of there. We had to leave my fiancee behind. She was fourteen years old, and beautiful and fierce and smart, and she died because she got shot in the back at a military facility."

Hilde let out a breath she hadn't realized she'd been holding. "What happened to the lieutenant who shot her?" she asked quietly.

"He rose fast through the ranks. He's a commander now," Wufei said, his voice stony all of a sudden. "Commander Treize Kushrenada. I wanted to quit the resistance after that day, but O convinced me to stay and get revenge, to seek justice for her death. He helped me find out who shot Meilan, and he's helped me out a lot in my journey, these past couple of years." He smiled grimly at his hostess. "That's my motivation," he said.

Hilde couldn't think of anything to say to that.

* * *

After Hilde left his apartment in what he could tell was close to a royal fit of rage, Duo sank down wearily onto the couch. She was just being so... _coddling_, and it drove him insane. He was a big boy, he could look after himself just fine, and he had no idea anymore how many times he'd told her so. He was even sleeping again, so she had nothing to worry about. Of course, he hadn't mentioned how he'd gotten sleeping pills, and how those were really the only reason he was sleeping at all.

Sweet, sweet sleep. When Duo slept, especially with those drugs to knock him out, it was a beautiful oblivion. He didn't think, he didn't feel—he barely existed. It was an ideal state to be in, in his opinion. Breathing out a deep sigh, he got off the couch to go take another pill and settle down for an afternoon nap. Maybe this time, when he woke up, it would all have been a dream. He was going to keep hoping so.

* * *

A/N: Yay, new chapter. Christmas is a time for slacking off and seeing family and friends, rather than being on the computer, so my beta and I wish you all a Merry Christmas while neither of us bother with getting Chapter 50 out before Christmas. I'll work on it for before New Year's, but it kinda depends on how busy she is. :D So with that in mind, later days, folks! 


	50. Deep, Meaningful Sleepover Confessions

Disclaimer: If by some freakish chance, I _did_ own Gundam Wing and its creative and intellectual properties etc. etc., I would have deadlines. And I would _never_ make them. Ever. And then I wouldn't own it anymore.

* * *

Deadly Beautiful – Chapter 50

_by danse

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_

The doctor who had come to pay a house call had been positive about Heero's chances of recovering completely, once he had some food and rest to help out his immune system. So, when Heero's ribs started to knit and he insisted on trading sleeping places with Trowa, the other teen didn't fight him for very long. He had been starting to miss his bed anyway, although the couch wasn't all that bad to sleep on, considering.

No, Trowa really didn't mind sleeping in his own bed again, he had to admit as he woke up and stretched, arching his back and groaning contentedly. He rolled over and yawned as he took a look at his alarm clock. Nine AM; he supposed it was about time to get up.

He pulled the warm covers off of his legs and slid his feet to the floor, still rubbing sleep out of his eyes as he got up and padded out into the hallway in his boxers, aiming for the bathroom. He scratched his head and yawned once more as he opened the door. These days, Trowa was sleeping later than he ever had. He could almost _feel_ his body getting gradually flabbier and lazier from the lack of daily training (although in truth, his muscles were still far from disappearing). The good thing was that he really didn't care. It felt great to do nothing, like a real teenager, for once. He stepped into the shower.

* * *

When Trowa finally wandered into the living room, heading for the kitchen and the possibility of some breakfast, Heero was propped up on the couch, surfing the TV channels. The two of them were alone in the room, as Catherine was holed up in her bedroom, studying (she was working towards a certificate in accounting, to make money safely from home). 

Trowa nodded at Heero on his way past the couch, receiving a slight inclination of the head in return as Heero flicked his gaze at him. "Want anything to eat?" Trowa said, turning his head to talk as he kept walking.

Heero slowly and carefully turned his upper body, so that he was partially facing the kitchen behind him. "Toast sounds great. I can't have much else with these antibiotics."

Trowa grunted in acknowledgement, and after a few minutes of mucking around, he emerged from the kitchen with a bowl of cereal for himself and a couple of slices of toast for Heero. He plunked himself in the armchair as he handed the invalid his plate, and they sat in a companionable silence for several minutes, broken only by the sounds of chewing and the sound effects of the children's cartoon that Heero had stopped flipping channels at.

"You ever watch this show before?" Trowa asked eventually.

"Hmm? No. I don't have time for TV," Heero responded, taking another bite of toast.

"It's about a little horse with magical powers that can fly around, and he saves all the other animals from danger. Usually danger caused by people being stupid. He's got, like, a talking sheep and a little girl for sidekicks. Kids in this country love it; I think it might even be in English, too."

"Really." Heero's voice was flat and held just a hint of disinterest, but then he glanced around at Trowa, the shadow of a grin on his face. "Do you watch it often?" he asked innocently.

Trowa twisted his mouth, giving his guest a haughty glare that was rarely seen on his features. "No," he said succinctly. "The Care Bears are on at the same time."

The Japanese teen's face dropped into an expression of surprise for an instant, but then it curled back up into one of mirth. Heero's thin frame started to shake as he chuckled, and then he winced and put a hand to his side as he flopped back on the pillows behind him. "_Itaitaitai_... it hurts to laugh," he ground out between hiccups, his sides shaking more. At that, Trowa started chuckling too, and the two young men could do nothing but collapse into helpless, hysterical giggles as the closing credits of the cartoon rolled in front of them. It was fortunate for them that Catherine didn't walk in on that scene and pronounce them both insane on the spot.

As the laughter died down, between further small fits of that semi-hysterical giggling from Heero at the hitching pain in his side, they both sighed and relaxed back into their seats. "You know what, Trowa?" Heero said, studying the TV. When Trowa grunted, Heero rolled his head towards him on the pillow, looking at him sideways. "Dying really hurts like hell. I suggest you avoid it at all costs."

Trowa raised an eyebrow, smirking again. "Duly noted," he answered. He glanced back at the TV. "Oh, look, we've missed Care Bears."

"What the hell is a Care Bear anyway?" Heero suddenly blurted out. "The name alone sounds as ridiculous as that horse show."

Trowa threw a pillow at Heero, knowing that since Heero was in pain, the pillow's return arc to his face wasn't going to have a lot of force behind it. At least, not compared to Heero's normal strength.

* * *

Trowa Barton and Heero Yuy were similar in a lot of ways: both were quiet, determined, and had sick senses of humour, which they generally knew to keep to themselves. Given this unlikely chance to get to know each other (nearly the first person either of them had really gotten to know, on a friendly basis), they bonded very easily for two people who had trouble trusting. Maybe that was another reason they got along so well. 

One night, the two of them lingered over a meal of Catherine's spaghetti while she was out doing some grocery shopping. The kitchen was quiet, and it was just after Heero had started trying to spend more time moving around after his ribs started healing properly. Heero poked at his half-finished plate with his fork. "Your sister's a great person, Trowa, she really is, but she needs to take some cooking lessons."

Trowa frowned at his new friend over his water glass, but there was a twinkle in his eyes; he wasn't offended. "You could start doing the cooking. Pull your weight around here for a change, instead of lying on the couch all day." Trowa grinned and ducked as Heero launched a crust of bread off of his fork, aiming for his face. "Tch, touchy bastard," he said softly, still grinning.

"Jackass," Heero muttered around a mouthful of pasta, obviously not minding the taste _that_ much. "Your bedside manner is awful."

"I earn my pay," retorted Trowa, who, of course, did the nursing bit for free.

Witty repartee concluded, they ate in comfortable silence for a few minutes. Heero studied Trowa as he took a drink of water, and then set down his glass and folded his hands in front of him on the table, ignoring the rest of his supper. "Are you keeping in contact with anyone?" he asked.

Trowa glanced up at him and then back down at his plate. "Not really. Haven't talked to Quatre since... the accident, I think?" he answered, a note of surprise in his own voice.

Heero raised an eyebrow. "He's the only one you have any means of contacting?"

Trowa shrugged a shoulder. "Quatre has everybody's info. He kinda deals with all that stuff, you know?" He frowned at the other teen. "Why? Who do you talk to?" he demanded.

"Quatre, Wufei, and now you. Clearly, you're the only one who knows I'm still alive right now. Right?"

Trowa nodded reassuringly. "What about Duo?" he asked.

Heero looked startled at the very idea. "What about him? Why would I talk to Duo?" he said.

"Why _only_ not Duo, then?"

Trowa guessed that Heero hadn't really considered it this way before. "Well... um... of course I've talked to Quatre, and here I am with you now. As for Wufei, we were travelling together, so we had to talk eventually." Heero examined one of his fingernails as he spoke, scratching dirt out from underneath it.

"Okay, so let me get this straight," Trowa said, gesturing as he talked. "You have talked to and traveled with the one person in the group who nobody really likes except for maybe Quatre, who insults you and is constantly rude or antisocial—and everyone else, for that matter—but you _haven't_ talked to Duo. Who you've gone on _missions_ with."

"Well, fuck, I've talked to him on missions. And we had a conversation at Quatre's after that dinner party mission. It's not like I avoid him. What are you getting at here?" Heero was agitated and on the defensive, which Trowa had never thought he would live to see.

"Nothing, really," Trowa said, sipping his water placidly. The glass was almost empty. "I just wondered why, that's all. No big deal." He put his glass down. "But, for that matter, you two used to want to kill each other, and that seems to have stopped. How did you meet, anyway? You already seemed to know each other when we all met at that base in Algeria."

Heero exhaled loudly, staring at the table. "I had a mission back at the beginning of May, which involved infiltrating a school to get to a specific target. He was assigned to be my _roommate_. After two days we got in a deadly fight, but he got away." Heero paused. "We actually ended up fighting there because it turned out that we'd had conflicting missions about a month before that. I'd given him a wound that I recognized. The same target was involved with both of my missions, too."

Trowa nodded slowly in understanding. "Ahh, so _that's _what happened. Quatre and I were both wondering."

Heero gave Trowa a shrewd look. "Why don't you talk to Quatre anymore?" he asked suddenly.

Trowa was too surprised by the question to notice that Heero had just changed the subject. "...Why do you ask?" he said slowly.

The Japanese boy didn't take his eyes off his quarry. "You two seemed so close. And now you haven't spoken to him for over two weeks, at least. Who knows when you last spoke to him before _he_ called _you_ to say I was missing?" Trowa fidgeted under Heero's stern gaze, and Heero realized he'd hit a touchy subject. He didn't back off. "It's... peculiar."

Colour rose in Trowa's cheeks as he opened and closed his mouth a couple of times, not finding a good way to say what he wanted to say. "Th-the thing is, Quatre and I... um... well, I _guess_ we're kind of not speaking at the moment. There was... some awkwardness, and now it's tough." He looked at Heero. "You know?"

Heero looked completely baffled. Trowa cast about for a better way to say-but-not-say what he was trying to get at.

"Well, when you have a partnership with someone—when you spend a lot of time together working on something—you really get to know them well. And sometimes that, uh, it turns into a closer friendship. And that kind of thing. But... then if that happens, you know, it isn't always a good thing, and maybe one of you isn't sure about it, and that can lead to problems. Although," Trowa amended quickly, "that isn't necessarily what comes of it. Sometimes it's a really good thing for everyone, and everyone's happy." He studied Heero again. "Do you understand what I'm saying here?" he asked helplessly.

Heero stared back. "No," he answered, raising an eyebrow. The look of confusion was still on his face.

Trowa buried his head in his arms, sighed loudly, and then suddenly stood up. Without another word, they both started to clear the table.

* * *

A/N: Woohoo, the big 50. You'll be happy to know that I expect only around 30 more chapters before the end of the first, and by far the biggest, arc (of two). Also, I am so very excited for Chapters 51 and 52, and when you see them, you will know why. I apologize for my continued slowness; I didn't write much over Christmas holidays as I was too busy drinking and being social, and my beta reader is at least as busy as I am nowadays. We try, between us. See you soon. 


	51. A River in Egypt

A/N: A student's work is never done; merely put off until later.

Disclaimer: I don't own anything.

* * *

Deadly Beautiful – Chapter 51

_by danse

* * *

_

Duo roused from a dreamless sleep to the sound of something buzzing near his head. Grunting, he smacked whatever it was and heard a dull noise as it hit the carpet. He soon realized it was his cell phone, and it was ringing loudly. Blinking, he raised his head from the pillow and looked down at the phone quizzically before picking it up and flipping it open. He mumbled something incoherent into it and waited for a response.

"Duo, is that you?" It was Quatre's voice. Duo sat up blearily and rubbed sleep out of his face.

"Yeah, it's me. What do you need, Quatre?" he yawned, scratching his head and swinging his legs over the edge of the bed. A short silence met his question.

On the other end of the line, Quatre had stopped short. He paced as far across his room as the phone cord would allow and then returned, thinking quickly. He couldn't really tell Duo that he'd sent Wufei in to _spy_ on him, could he? Spying was such a harsh term for it anyway; it was more like just checking up on the poor boy. Okay, no, it was spying. But with good intent. Not that Duo would probably give a damn about intent if his privacy was being infringed upon. Quatre covered the receiver and sighed loudly before answering. "I, uh, I just realized I haven't heard from you for a little bit, and I thought I'd, uh, I thought I'd call and check that you were doing okay," he managed.

Quatre thought he could almost see the annoyed look on Duo's face, even though they were several thousand miles apart. "Of course I'm doing okay," the other boy responded, sounding more awake. "Why wouldn't I be okay?" Quatre heard him yawn into the phone again.

Duo's erstwhile friend had a very good idea why Duo might not be okay, because Wufei had seen fit to tell him everything that Hilde had related. It was probably the only straight and complete answer Quatre would ever hear from Wufei again about anything, but he was glad to hear it all anyway. _How to phrase this delicately?_ he thought. "Well," Quatre hedged, "you've teamed up with Heero on more jobs than either of you has with the rest of us, and you seemed to know each other already when we met the first time. I just was thinking there might be a bit of history there and that his disappearance"--Quatre was choosing his words very carefully--"might be affecting you. I thought, as a friend, that I would call." _Nicely done, Quatre,_ he whispered to himself, feeling triumphant.

Duo nearly exploded. "_Quatre_. You _do _know that Yuy and I spent all of our acquaintance, except for the past month or so, _trying to kill each other_, right? _Personally,_" he said at a volume and tone that prompted Quatre to hold the phone somewhat away from his ear, "I'm really not all that torn-up about it. You understand me? _I could care less!_"

Wincing, Quatre gingerly placed the phone next to his ear again, hoping Duo wouldn't hang up on him as a finale. He put on his best soothing voice as he started apologizing profusely for his 'assumptions'. Truthfully, there was no longer any doubt in his mind as to whether Wufei had correctly reported Duo's feelings for Heero. His attitude now (except for the anger) was completely at odds with what it had been during their last phone conversation, and on top of that, it sounded a bit too over-the-top to be real hatred. So he carried on, and kept apologizing and looking at his watch until Duo finally mumbled his forgiveness.

"It's okay, Quatre, really," he said, his voice a bit muffled. "I'm sorry I snapped there; I'm just not feeling well today." Quatre heard him sigh. "Um, actually," Duo said eventually, "can I ask a question?"

"Shoot," Quatre replied, raising an eyebrow as he scratched his knee, waiting.

"Is there anything to be done? I mean, we haven't met up for a little while, but I feel like I need to get out and do something." He rushed on before Quatre could say anything. "I was thinking of some kind of one-man operation, you know? Some job that needs to be done that we don't need a whole crew for. I'd like something to do; I feel like I'm getting cabin fever or something!" Duo's voice was a bit on the pleading side. Quatre frowned, staring at the wall.

"Let me have a look," he said, tucking the phone under his chin as he got up to flip through his stacks of information, printed off from the OZ computer data that one of the Maganacs had collected several weeks previously. After searching for a few minutes and rejecting three possible targets that he didn't think Duo would be able to handle at the moment, he found a job that would do. The risk of failure and danger was fairly small, comparatively, and the work to be done was basic. Holding the paper in his hand, Quatre stared at it for a moment, debating silently with himself, and then brought the phone close to his mouth again. "Okay, Duo, I found you something," he said. "Are you ready?"

"Yeah," Duo answered. "I'm ready."

* * *

The night was deep and black outside the boundaries of the OZ Taurus base. Around the fence and around the building, spotlights cut through the darkness to spill harsh, white light on the bare ground. The spotlights didn't quite overlap, and the dim, grey fringes created narrow paths through the illumination, from the metal fences right up to the rough walls of the buildings.

A silhouette sat low to the ground, in the small space between a Jeep and the fence, which now bore a small hole fit for crawling through. The figure was briskly rubbing his hands against his upper arms; he somehow hadn't expected it to be this cold at the beginning of August, even in Siberia. He could see his breath coming out in little puffs of vapour; it had to be well below freezing that night. _Hindsight is twenty/twenty, Duo_, he grumped to himself. _Nothing to do now but suck it up. _Nevertheless cursing his decision that a dark turtleneck and toque would be enough to protect him from the elements, he carefully slipped off his small pack and took out a pair of binoculars.

_Not a soul in sight,_ he decided, sweeping the area with just his eyes before training the binoculars along the roof of the building across from him. He turned his attention back to his pack, removing a bundle of dynamite, a sheathed knife with a six-inch blade, a light handgun that was loaded with an eight-round clip, a roll of fuse wire, a short length of rope, and a cheap lighter. Working quickly, he strapped the knife to his left forearm, tucked the gun into the back of his pants and stuffed the lighter and fuse into his pockets. Next, he unrolled the dynamite into a flat, connected sheet and used the rope to secure it around his midriff, under his shirt. He hissed when the cold air and then the cold explosives touched his bare skin, but he warmed up again quickly when he pulled his sweater back down. The only things left in the pack were a few energy bars and his wire-cutters; he quietly bundled it into a ball and pushed it back through the hole in the fence behind him. Now he was all ready to go.

With one last visual sweep of the area for threats, Duo raised himself onto the balls of his feet and slipped out from behind the Jeep in a low crouch. Taking a deep breath to fortify himself, he pivoted to face another vehicle about fifteen metres away and then ran for it, staying as low to the ground and as silent as possible. It was unfortunately situated almost directly in the middle of one of those dangerous circles of electric light. Extracting his gun from the waistband of his pants, he checked his speed a bit as he approached the vehicle, and at the last minute, slid to the ground to roll underneath it into the welcome embrace of the shadows. He very nearly hit his head on the running board on the way down, but he made it without injury.

The dynamite shifted uncomfortably against his skin as he lay facedown on the cold dirt, his gun in his right hand as he scanned the ground again as far as he could see for enemy feet. Seeing nothing, he raised himself up onto his knees and elbows and crawled quickly out from under the vehicle, his gun still facing forward, and then jumped to his feet and ran for a ten-foot-tall stack of empty, wooden pallets over by the nearest building. He next wedged himself in the narrow space between the stack of pallets and the wall, his gun up above his head as he looked from side to side, checking out his new surroundings. With his back pressed flush against the cold, concrete wall, he had maybe two inches of clearance between the front of his shirt and the rough, splintery wood in front of him. To his left, a pool of light ended about three feet away and the open yard stretched beyond it. He could see the Jeep next to where he'd come through the fence a bit more than a hundred yards away. He slipped farther into the darkness behind the pallets, wanting to get away from the exposed space. To his right, where he was moving, it was dark for a twenty-metre radius; there was a service bay with a heavy-looking metal door on tracks, like the kind that is commonly found on garages. _Probably bulletproof,_ he mused. The light over this door, he noticed, was conveniently burnt out. Duo loved a warm welcome.

He sidled closer to the edge of the pallets, nearly leaning out from behind their cover, and spotted something that made him grin giddily for a moment. About ten paces down the wall, on the other side of the big door, was a ladder that went up to the roof. It started surprisingly high up (probably higher than he could reach from the ground, he noted), but conveniently, there was another stack of pallets nearby that practically mirrored the one he was currently hiding behind. Duo frowned at it, and then turned to look at the much closer pile. There were fairly large gaps in the sides of the structures, so that they formed an awkward sort of ladder. _This could work. This could work very well,_ he thought.

Duo turned to the side as much as the limited space would allow, keeping his gun out in front of him, and crouched, trying not to press his knees up against the wood too much. Slowly, carefully, he leaned forward, his head creeping out into the open bit by bit, until he had an adequate view of his surroundings beyond the doorway. There was absolutely no one there, which he simultaneously found comforting and strange. He, however, was not one to look a gift horse in the mouth, so he quietly stood up again and edged his way out into the open, darting along the side of the building until he was firmly ensconced behind the new obstacle.

This one was a couple of feet farther out from the wall; he was glad to actually have room to turn around all the way without scraping his shoulders on splintery wood or rough concrete. He looked up; the ladder was indeed too far out of his reach from here, even if he were to jump. He had no idea how anyone was supposed to be able to use it that way, unless either OZ employed seven-foot-tall soldiers or there was another ladder somewhere nearby. At any rate, he didn't need one. Duo turned to the stack of pallets, noting that it was the same height as the other one, and looked up at the top as he tucked his gun back in the waistband of his pants.

Climbing was one of Duo's special talents; he figured he must have loved jungle gyms as a kid, although he couldn't specifically remember that far back. Spitting on his hands, he scurried to the top of the pallet stack in only a few seconds, and then turned his head to look at the ladder. Immediately, he realized why the extra space between the building and the pallets was not as good as he'd thought just a minute ago—the gap seemed like a yawning void from the top. Chewing his lip thoughtfully, he climbed the rest of the way over the top edge of the wooden tower and crouched on its flat top, staring at the ladder. When glaring at it didn't make it come closer to him, he huffed a bit louder than was probably prudent and edged back another step. Before he had time to think about it too much, Duo stood up, leapt forward one step, and launched himself off of the edge of the tower, his arms out in front of him. He caught the third rung of the ladder, swinging his feet into the wall in such a way as to muffle the noise. The first rung buried itself in his stomach, and he was glad for the dynamite's presence to keep that hit from bringing up his dinner. After clinging to the same rung with both hands, dangling several feet above the ground as he tried to catch his breath, he pushed the soles of his boots against the concrete and reached up to climb again.

The first thing Duo noticed, once he was on the roof, was that there was a lot more wind up there and that it was even colder as a result.

The second thing he noticed was that there were three men with guns up there with him.

They all seemed to spot him at the same time, and since he didn't have time to go for his gun and hope to make a difference against three people who were armed and at the ready, he could only think of one option. So, with his hands in the air, he backed up quickly to the edge where the ladder was and jumped off, grabbing the metal bars at the sides and wrapping his arms and legs around them for a very fast, controlled descent. It was controlled until he ran out of ladder, anyway.

After plunging to the cold ground, Duo rolled to his feet and just started running, pulling out his gun and taking off the safety as he ran. There was a lot of shouting, noise, and pounding of footfalls around him, but he was deaf to all of it. He ran around the corner that was closest to the ladder, zigzagging through shadows as bullets kicked up chunks of earth at his heels. Belatedly, he realized he was near both the front gate and a lot of vehicles, and veered toward a clump of Jeeps with one guard attending them. His mind reverting to an action-reaction state and adrenaline coursing through him, Duo ducked down below the doors of the vehicles as he cut around behind the soldier, taking her by surprise as he reached up to snap her neck. Her rifle fell from her hands and clattered uselessly to the ground, and Duo was already moving again, making a beeline for a Jeep at the front of the cluster, near the road to the gate.

A particularly fast runner from the chase scene that was probably organizing around the corner appeared out of nowhere in front of Duo, and the extent of his reflexes was tested as he ducked a surprise punch. He retaliated by rising fast with an elbow to the other guy's chin, staggering him, and followed that by planting a heel in the man's side that shoved him into the door of the nearest vehicle. Duo grabbed the OZ soldier by the back of the collar, heaved him off of the door, and punched him hard in the face, sending the poor unfortunate sprawling to the dirt. Breathing hard, he vaulted the door of the Jeep, landing neatly in the driver's seat, and unsheathed his knife to pry out and strip the ignition wires.

He had just gotten a spark that made the engine rumble to life when he realized someone else had appeared beside him. He looked up in horror, the thought to put the Jeep in drive and peel out of there not entering his head in his state of numb shock, and the last thing he saw was the soldier raising the butt of his rifle before everything went black.

* * *

A/N: Yay, midterms are over! I'm fic-juggling these days, but most of the next chapter has already been written and it just needs adding to and editing, which won't take a month. :D See you soon. 


	52. The Chemicals Between Us

A/N: Hello, everyone. I can't wait for you all to read this chapter, for Something has finally been Accomplished within. My beta was having fits, it's _that_ nice to read and contemplate. Enjoy.

Disclaimer: I own nothing at all. Go team.

* * *

Deadly Beautiful – Chapter 52

_by danse

* * *

_

It figured, Quatre thought, that stress could go so quickly from seeming like a foreign concept to something you put on as easily as your shirt in the morning. Sighing, he rubbed at his eyes with his palms and rolled out of bed. He was still wearing his clothes from yesterday, he noted groggily as he grabbed his shower kit and shuffled to the bathroom.

The shower didn't help. The blond teen stumbled back into his bedroom in a towel and sat down heavily on his bed again. He should have been finishing up his packing—his floor was dominated by the open suitcase and box into which he'd recently been putting all of his worldly possessions in preparation to leave this base. Unfortunately, his thoughts were dominated by something else entirely: Duo, who should have called Quatre immediately after completing his mission in Russia, had now been missing-in-action for four days.

He looked up forlornly at the phone that still sat on his empty desk. He'd already tried calling Duo's cell phone several times, only to find that it was persistently turned off, or had a dead battery. He had no way of getting ahold of Hilde, with the possible exception of finding Wufei and persuading him to relay a message, though Quatre really didn't think he wanted to send Hilde into a panic or incite her rage, since he didn't know what Duo had told her (if anything) before leaving. There was no one else he could contact, no one else he could talk to... He blinked suddenly, coming out of a slight daze. That wasn't entirely true, was it?

Obeying impulse, he reached for the phone and dialed a number that he would have sworn up and down he'd memorized merely in case of an emergency. He hadn't noted the time; thankfully it was early afternoon in Italy as the phone rang.

* * *

Trowa and Heero were facing off on either side of a chessboard, and it was Trowa's move when the phone rang. He sagged in his chair, his hand hovering over two pawns and a rook, and shot a warning look at Heero. "Don't touch anything. I'll know," he growled, ignoring Heero's snicker as he pushed his chair back and got up to answer the phone.

"_Pronto_," he said, watching his opponent out of his peripheral vision while he leaned against the kitchen doorframe.

There was a short pause. "Hello, Trowa," a quiet voice finally responded.

Trowa's eyebrows nearly disappeared behind his bangs, and he pushed away from the wall. "Quatre? Is that you?" He noticed Heero glancing up at Quatre's name, watching him, and found himself turning away, despite his earlier fears of having the chessboard rearranged for him.

"Trowa, we have a problem," Quatre said hesitantly, before blurting out his next words in a hurried jumble. "I sent Duo out on a solo mission that he should have finished four days ago and he still hasn't contacted me yet and I think something might have happened to him and it's all my fault for sending him because I knew better but I did it anyway!" He paused, presumably for breath, and then sighed into the phone. "Trowa, I'm so sorry I called you out of the blue like this. There's nothing you can do to help right now and I'm just burdening you needlessly, but... I guess I just needed to unload this, I'm sorry." Quatre was clearly very tired and distressed; he was confusing a lot of his p's and b's as he spoke.

Trowa bit his lip, staring hard at the wall. "Quatre, calm down, it's okay. It's good that you called me and I don't mind at all. What's wrong? Duo hasn't contacted you? He was on a mission?"

He didn't hear the immediate scrape of Heero's chair against the floor, which would have been a nice warning before he suddenly appeared at Trowa's shoulder, glaring daggers at him. "What was that?" he said.

Quatre heard the words over the phone. "Who's that?" he asked.

Trowa rolled his eyes toward the ceiling, praying silently to unknown deities as he shoved Heero back out of his personal space a little. After considering the possibilities, he decided to answer Quatre before Heero, thinking that Quatre would probably react a bit less violently to the astounding news in store for _him_. He turned his attention to the phone and the boy on the other end of the line. "It's Heero," he said. "He's been staying here with me for a little while."

He decided shortly after the words passed his lips that he might have been wrong in his assessment, because Quatre hit an impressive volume. "Heero _what?_" he exclaimed. "Heero's _alive?_ How long has he been there? And why didn't you ever say anything? _Trowa!"_

About then, Trowa would have gladly traded places with anyone else on the planet, except for possibly Duo, wherever he was. "Yeah," he responded, "Heero showed up on my doorstep a few weeks ago seeking sanctuary, and he asked me not to say anything to anyone for a while. So that was why I couldn't tell you he was here or alive, because he asked me. You wanna talk to him, Quatre?" He glanced at Heero again, who was looking agitated but displaying a surprising amount of patience for his turn to ask all the questions.

"No," Quatre responded, "that's fine. I'm just more concerned about Duo right now, because I don't even know if he's alive or not anymore... oh, this is all my fault..."

"Calm down, Quatre," Trowa said again, grabbing a kitchen chair and sitting in it. Heero did the same. "Just tell me everything that's going on here, to start with." So Quatre did. After that, Trowa had to relay it all to Heero, who by that point was looking ready to strangle him with the phone cord for making him wait.

"...And he was _captured?_" Heero asked incredulously, when Trowa had finished.

Trowa rubbed his eyes with his hands, the phone cradled under his chin. "Probably captured or killed. Either way, that was his last known location and Quatre hasn't heard from him in four days."

Heero glared at the floor for a minute, chewing his lip, and then suddenly stood up. "I'm going to get him," he said.

Trowa's eyes went wide. "What?"

Heero was already at the front door, putting on his shoes and grabbing his jacket from the closet. "I said I'm going after him. I'll be in contact." There was nothing Trowa could think of to say as the door shut with a quiet click behind Heero. After a few numb seconds of shock, he came to his senses enough to remember the phone again. "Heero's going after him, Quatre," he said.

"Oh, Allah. Is he going to kill him?"

"I think he's going to bring him back."

Quatre sighed. "Good." A pregnant pause followed on his end of the line before he spoke again, his tone foreboding. "Trowa, I just realized something."

"Hmm?" Trowa murmured.

"...Duo doesn't know that Heero's still alive."

Trowa's eyes went even wider than they had before, his mouth forming a silent 'o' as he darted a look at the door. It would already be too late to go after Heero. "W-well," he stammered, "uh, I guess he's probably going to find out soon enough, isn't he?"

* * *

Duo sat on the bunk in his cramped, damp and dirty little cell, in a bad state of mind and staring at a crack in one of the cinderblocks of the wall opposite him. His hair had been constantly wet for most of the past four days and it felt like ice whenever it touched his skin. There was a faint humming sound coming from somewhere down the hallway that had persisted for the past several hours, and it was really starting to get on his nerves. _I thought these cells were soundproof,_ he thought. _Maybe if I started screaming and yelling..._ Of course, the OZ guards here seemed to enjoy hearing it, if the twice-daily torture sessions were any indication.

Having nothing else to do with his time between the tortures and the tiny meals and the daily ice-cold shower, Duo had started to stare at the crack in the wall and think. He thought about all kinds of things, but mostly the people he knew and what they were probably doing right now—wondering if they thought about him, and if they were trying to find him or had just given him up for dead. Occasionally he thought about Heero, but that was a bad road to go down because it made him angry. He got angry at Heero, himself, Wufei, OZ, God, anyone he could, and then he got depressed. There were a lot of reasons he got worked up about it: not only because he felt somehow like he'd missed his one big chance at happiness, but also because although he generally didn't look at his lifestyle from a normal person's point of view, he couldn't help but feel disgusted at the waste of a life. Sure, Heero had killed people for a living, and so did the rest of them; they all felt much older than they were and didn't think in terms of being teenagers so much as just themselves. Perhaps he could have even had a future ahead of him, but that was all lost now that he was dead, wasn't it? Then again, maybe none of them really had a future. Maybe that was why Duo had volunteered for a mission that had nearly resulted in his own death, and still might. He leaned his head against the wall behind him, squeezing his eyes shut. Maybe all was really lost, after all.

* * *

If Duo had fallen asleep while leaning against the wall, he didn't know. It was always dark in his cell, and the passage of time didn't really matter anymore. In any case, the next thing he knew, he had just been startled into awareness with adrenaline pumping through his veins. Fixing his gaze on the tiny, dirty window in the steel door across the room, he took several deep breaths to calm down and tried to figure out what had woken him so suddenly. It had probably been a noise, and it had to have been loud for it to reach him at all in here. As he was glaring at the door, concentrating, he heard a muffled bang from outside. _Gunshot!_ he thought, his eyes going wide. _That was it! Someone's shooting!_ He suddenly didn't know whether to be elated or worried. Was it someone coming to rescue him, or was he going to be killed?

Either way it would be an escape, he decided.

Thirty seconds later, someone was outside the cell. He couldn't see who it was, but he saw the top of their head through the high window, and he heard a muffled scraping from around where he knew the padlock was. Another gunshot hit the door and with a few more loud bangs, the door flew open. Duo squinted in the sudden shaft of light, trying to see details in the silhouette standing in his prison. Whoever it was, they were pointing the gun at him. He put his hands up in the air hesitantly, still unable to make out any details. The person spoke before he could think of anything to say.

"Duo, you dumbass."

The blood drained from Duo's face, and the thought occurred to him inappropriately that he finally understood the meaning of the phrase, '_You look like you've seen a ghost_'.

_No. It can't be. It _can't_ be._ _Heero is _dead_. I'm hallucinating._

Ghost or not, Heero continued to point the gun at him. "I should put one between your eyes. How could you be so stupid and careless as to get captured alive? You've made yourself a liability to the group and possibly put everyone in danger!"

Clearly, it was Heero in the flesh. Still not completely sure if he was dreaming or not, Duo decided to roll with it. Infuriated, he put his hands higher in the air, looking right at Heero. "All right. Do it. Shoot me."

Heero continued to glare at him, looking like he was having an internal conflict about whether he actually should or not.

Duo persisted. "You said it yourself, I'm a liability and a danger. Just plug me and get your peace of mind."

Heero sighed and lowered his gun. "Get up. We're going."

Duo lowered his hands a little, squinting sideways at the other boy. "Excuse me?" he asked.

Heero stalked over to the cot and hauled Duo up by the arm. "Move your ass, Maxwell," he growled, "before I break both your legs and drag you out."

Duo followed obediently, doing his best to ignore the fact that Heero had just grabbed his arm in a spot where he had a very purple bruise forming from yesterday. Taking a deep breath, he put everything else, including the pain, aside to focus on getting out of there alive and in one piece.

* * *

Four hours later, they were sneaking the dirty, bruised, and utterly exhausted Duo up a fire escape to the third floor of a hotel in some Russian town Duo had never heard of. Heero unlocked the door to his room, half-turning his head to talk to Duo as he entered and walked toward the small table next to the window.

"You've got a few hours of safety to sleep; I suggest you use them before we have to hit the road." He pulled his ever-present gun from the pocket of his coat and put it on the table with the room key, unzipping his warm coat and shrugging it off before turning to see that Duo was standing silently in the middle of the room, not having moved for several heartbeats. He was staring intently at Heero.

Heero's eyes widened slightly, and he gave Duo an apprehensive look. "Are you okay?" he asked hesitantly. He had no idea what to do if the answer wasn't, 'yes'.

As if he'd flipped a switch, Duo came to life all of a sudden. "_You!_" he said loudly, pointing an accusing finger at Heero, who flinched. "You Goddamned son of a fucking bitch, what are you doing here? You were _dead!"_ His voice rose steadily to a crescendo by the last word, and his expression was somewhere between shocked and livid.

Heero gaped, not having expected this at all. "Well... obviously that wasn't true," he said, completely at a loss for anything intelligent to say.

He had no time to react before Duo had closed the short distance between them and grabbed Heero by the shirt collar, twisting it and slamming him up against the wall, a few scant inches from the large window with its scenic view. "Well, _I _thought it _was!_ For a fucking _month_, I thought it was! And the worst part," Duo snarled, "is that obviously someone _else _knew you were alive, _and_ they were able to tell you where the fuck I was. _I am not impressed!_"

Heero could tell; he was starting to feel a lack of oxygen due to the grip Duo had on his collar, and his feet were no longer entirely on the floor. Feeling a bit afraid in spite of himself, he pinched one of Duo's pressure points enough to make him flinch and let go, putting a little distance between them. Although he didn't like having his back against the wall, he didn't dare move in case Duo saw and came after him.

Duo wasn't finished yet. "So you were alive that whole time, when everyone _clearly_ seemed to think you were not, and yet _fuck_ if you could have been bothered to correct that impression for that entire month! To _hell_ with anyone who just _might _have given a _fuck_ that you were dead--" Duo had stepped in close again, jabbing a finger very close to Heero's face as he vented; probably everyone in the hotel could hear him. "--You're _Heero-fucking-Yuy_, you don't need anyone, right? And then all that time later, you think you can just _magically appear, guns blazing,_ at some outpost OZ base in _fucknut-nowhere_ saying you're gonna save my Goddamn life, and you think I'm just going to roll over and accept it all like that _redeems_ you, you arrogant piece of shit? I don't love you _that_ mu--" Duo's rant died in the middle of the word as his brain caught up to his mouth. His eyes widened in horror and his face flushed crimson right down into the dirty, ragged collar of his turtleneck as he apparently realized what he'd just said out loud.

Heero's ears were filled with a loud buzzing. They stood there, unmoving, and stared at each other, Duo looking utterly mortified and Heero feeling like someone had just dumped a bucket of ice water all over him. Time escaped them, finding less awkward places to be as Heero's brain started working again, sluggishly. _Duo—I—what? He—What did he just say? 'I don't love you _that_ much'. He... then... how much _does _he?

* * *

_

The room suddenly felt painfully warm. And quiet. Duo could do nothing but stand still, facing the object of his adoration and source of most of his confusion. Heero was still standing against the wall—leaning on it for support?—and his open, slack expression hadn't changed for a few moments now. _Oh shit_, Duo thought,_ I've shocked him for life and now he's a vegetable—what will I tell Quatre? _He wished the floor would open up and swallow him.

Somewhere outside the small, timeless vacuum that was the hotel room, a bell started to chime. As it counted out the hour, time started moving normally for the two boys again. Right about the instant that Duo realized that they were still close enough together that he could see Heero's eyelashes, how long they were and how they outlined his dark eyes in a way that the best of the Renaissance painters could never have hoped to capture the elegance of... Right about then, Heero started moving closer. His reflexes were at least as fast as Duo's, and all Duo had time to do was blink in surprise as Heero's lips met his.

One thing Heero had no experience in was kissing. An important aspect of his personality, though, was that he was a quick learner, and soon, with Duo's help, what had started as a violent, awkward mashing of lips and bumping of noses shifted into something more refined, gentler and more passionate. Duo's eyes slid shut with bliss and he felt warm hands push up into his dirty hair as they teased each other softly with their lips. He didn't realize he was moving at all until his back bumped up against the wall, and he opened his eyes briefly. Heero's tongue darted out to lick Duo's lips, and he opened his mouth obediently, surrendering his sight again in favour of touch.

His partner's tongue explored Duo's mouth carefully, playfully, thoroughly, occasionally retreating for air as Heero kissed Duo's jaw line, or nipped at his upper lip. Duo relished the sensations, exploring the hard muscles of Heero's back with his fingertips. Gradually, they got rougher, more forceful, more sensual, and as Heero's hands roamed up and down Duo's sides under his shirt, and their tongues fought for dominance in each other's mouths, and Duo was starting to consider what it would feel like to jump up and straddle Heero's hips as he was pressed into the wallpaper, a small, insistent beeping noise in the background came to his attention.

_Oh god,_ Duo thought, trying to distract Heero's attention from the sound with his touches, _not now. Ignoreitignoreitignoreit..._

Of course, Heero didn't ignore it. As if it had suddenly just dawned on him where he was and what he was doing, Heero's back stiffened and he released Duo, moving away quickly and over to the table (it was a couple of feet farther away from the wall than it had been, for some reason) to dig his pager, which was the source of the beeping, out of his coat pocket. As Duo slowly moved away from the warm spot on the wall, looking at Heero nervously, Heero had eyes for nothing but the pager. Duo watched as he clenched his jaw and then unceremoniously stuffed the device into the pocket of his pants, grabbing his gun and coat.

"I have to go; get some sleep before you leave," was all Heero said before he was gone from the room.

Duo stared at the door helplessly. _What the hell was _that he thought, that familiar feeling of confusion welling up in him again. As he stood alone in the hotel room, the bell somewhere outside chimed another half-hour.

* * *

A/N: OMG KISSIES. And then Heero being Heero and leaving abruptly like nothing just happened. He has his reasons, don't you worry. I wrote that bit in like... January, probably. Maybe sooner. I posted it on my fandom LJ at the time. :D Since this is the point I was aiming for with all available cranial resources on DB, I'm going to go poke at Ombres now, if you read that. Hopefully I'll have a new chapter of that soon, so keep an eye out wherever for bits and pieces. 


	53. Little Things

A/N: Hey everybody. Third year uni no. Here is your chapter, wherein you will find A Plot Thread. Actually two. In case you were wondering/keeping track.

Disclaimer: Not my characters, not my show, I am making no money off this, please do not take legal action.

* * *

Deadly Beautiful – Chapter 53

_by danse_

* * *

Heero rolled up the window of his rented Peugeot as he hit the autobahn, disliking how the wind roared in his ear at high speeds. Quite honestly, it was probably the first thing his brain had properly registered of his environment for the past two hours; he was lost in thought.

His pager going off in that Russian hotel room had seemed like a monkey wrench in the machinery at the time, but as it jarred him out of the reverie he'd been in and he'd realized where he was and what he was doing, he'd decided he was thankful for the interruption.

Heero's pager had borne a message from J, with a direct order to return to headquarters immediately. Considering Heero had been gone for a month and presumed dead by more than one person, he'd thought this a bit presumptuous but decided he'd kept the man waiting long enough as it was. He'd gone back as ordered, leaving Duo behind to actually get some rest, like he'd originally intended the room for.

If he hadn't had to leave... His hands tightened on the steering wheel until his knuckles turned white.

He was embarrassed and ashamed of himself. What had he been thinking anyway, taking advantage of Duo like that? All of the bewildering rage and violence and _tension_ in the room—all of the tension that had been building up between them ever since they'd first met face-to-face and maybe even before _that_—all of it had snapped like a stretched rubber band with Duo's verbal slip. And then Heero had let something, he didn't know what (instinct, maybe) take over his body and brain and he'd committed what basically amounted to sexual assault on one of his teammates.

_You asshole,_ he thought angrily, his foot pressing down on the accelerator until the engine growled under the hood, _he'd just spent four days in a prison cell in the hands of the enemy, enduring who knows_ what_ kind of torture, and he probably got no sleep or food either, and then you go and feel him up like a cheap whore not two minutes after he's just finished telling you to fuck off. What is your _problem_, Yuy?_ Heero ground his teeth in frustration, feeling a tic in his jaw. The pager had been a godsend, because he still couldn't account for where his common sense had been in that hotel room and he wasn't even sure he could look Duo in the eye now. Not that Duo had exactly just been standing there waiting for him to finish whatever he'd been doing, that was for sure, but he had probably been coming down off of an adrenaline high after their crazy escape and who knew what kind of trauma he'd been experiencing on top of that. Heero felt disgusting.

And now he had to go to Liechtenstein to kill some sixteen-year-old girl. "If only life had a money-back guarantee," he grumbled to himself.

* * *

It felt like he hadn't actually stopped moving at all in the past few days, Heero mused as he finally collapsed on the bed in his hotel room. It was the preceding month of laziness—'healing', as Trowa and his sister had insisted it was whenever he'd complained—that was responsible for this. Sighing loudly, he stared at the white, nondescript ceiling for a few minutes, his arms sprawled out to either side of him as he listened to his own breathing. Once his brain felt sufficiently caught up to the rest of him, Heero heaved himself back upright and went to dig through his duffel bag, eventually unearthing the envelope that J had given him with his full briefing inside. He sat down heavily on the bed again to open it and examine its contents for the first time, having not been too bothered earlier to get anything but the barest facts and a destination from his employer. Ripping open the manila flap with a flourish, he dumped the papers all over the bedspread; the first thing that caught his eye was the glossy photo lying on top of some stamped and official-looking documents. He picked it up by a corner and held it up to the light to examine it. It was a paparazzi-quality shot of the target at a mall that looked American, and she herself looked very familiar. After a moment he was able to place the face, not to a real person but to another photograph of the same girl in a school uniform. He dropped the picture back onto the pile in disgust.

The same girl.

It was the same fucking girl!

An unwelcome review played through his mind of his first _two_ missions involving the assassination of this girl, both of which had failed horribly and had led to his meeting Duo Maxwell and the eventual fucking-up of his emotions, the effects of which he was feeling in the present. Twice he'd been interfered with, twice he'd failed, and what the hell was she doing in Europe now? What was so important about this spoiled-looking teenager that J had apparently felt the need to test the 'third time's a charm' theory? Heero leaned forward and buried his face in his hands, rubbing at his eyes in frustration.

When glaring at the floor for several minutes failed to make him feel better, he reluctantly raised his head, turned on the bedside lamp in defiance of the fading sunlight, and turned his attention back to his briefing material. Myriad photocopies of official documents mingled with pages of handwritten reports mingled with newspaper clippings and photographs, and it took Heero more than an hour to get through it all. When he was finished, he finally had a very clear picture of what was going on lately and some idea as to why this girl was important to anyone.

She was deposed royalty, returned to claim the throne of her country but not yet ascended or even widely known about yet, although Heero doubted that would last much longer. An explosion in Washington, D.C. had killed her adoptive father (suspected assassination, apparently) and in short order she and her adoptive mother had relocated to Liechtenstein, where they were now residing quietly. But not quietly enough to avoid detection, obviously. J had probably run his best spies into the ground to uncover all of this information, Heero thought.

While the right to rule a country seemed important, one had to consider that it was a very small nation with not much in the way of exports and not a lot of pull in international politics. Not a lot of evident pull, anyway. It was the history of the royal family that lent any relevance to its sudden and imminent return. Relena Friedenskraft-cum-Darlian came from a line of pacifistic rulers that had buoyed a tiny, insignificant nation enough to weather both World Wars, the Nazi occupation, and several other European conflicts besides. Most of the Friedenskraft kings and queens had carried a lot of respect and therefore clout (albeit somewhat behind-the-scenes clout) with other, stronger European nations, dispensing advice and sometimes funding in exchange for protection and consideration. For hundreds of years, the name Friedenskraft had carried weight much more significant than the family's holdings could have earned.

"Imagine if World War III started in Europe," Heero mumbled quietly to the empty hotel room. Hitler had understood well the power of symbols in swaying a people to a singular cause.

So did OZ, probably.

The hush seemed more contemplative as the teen carefully put all of the gathered intelligence back in the manila envelope and turned out the light.

* * *

Colours of twilight painted the desert sky as a lone, black helicopter made its landing on a solitary-looking concrete pad. Quatre glanced sideways at his sister, who was staring out the small window, probably lost in thought. Her movements were abrupt and a little bit hurried as he watched her snap back to the present and start to gather herself to leave the helicopter. He gave himself a little shake and rubbed at his eyes before following her example; he hadn't slept for the past two days.

The siblings stepped out onto the hot pavement, their bags slung over their shoulders and their hair whipped around by the wind from the rotors above. The loud _thup-thup-thup_ the rotors made seemed to be telling Quatre's heart how things were supposed to be done, and his breath was hitching in his chest as a result.

He caught sight of the car, parked several metres away with the sky reflected off its glossy, black exterior, and the man standing in front of it, in a pressed gray suit and sunglasses and with his bodyguards a discreet few metres behind him. Iria's hand found his and squeezed quickly before she broke away and trotted forward to greet the man waiting. He gave her a hug, a warm smile obvious on his face, before turning his attention to Quatre, who was still approaching, and extending his hand.

"Quatre," he said, deep tones that Quatre hadn't heard in years rolling past his ears over the noise of the helicopter.

"Father," Quatre managed, grasping his hand and trying to remember to use a firm, confident grip.

Mr. Winner drew him into a manly, one-armed hug, their handshake trapped between them. "Welcome home, son," he said, clapping Quatre on the back.

Quatre locked eyes with Iria over his father's shoulder. Her face looked like he felt: apprehensive and self-conscious. "Thank you," he whispered.

* * *

Relena shut off her hairdryer and frowned at her reflection in the mirror, turning her head this way and that. After a few moments of examining her hair and the way the morning sun caught it, she sighed and sagged in her bureau chair. Long, straight hair was so _boring._ She was contemplating digging out her curling iron when she suddenly caught sight of her alarm clock reflected in the mirror. She whipped around to look at it, cursed softly, and snatched her hairbrush off the bureau in a panic.

Less than two minutes later, she was jogging down the hallway, her customary joined braids bobbing up and down behind her head as her footsteps thudded dully in the thick Persian rugs. _People form habits because they don't have time for anything else, _she thought in annoyance as she turned the corner that led to the breakfast room. _And I shouldn't have to do gym class when I jog three miles a day between the bathroom and my food, either,_ she added as she slowed down to approach the doorway. Pargan had nothing but disdain for running in the house, no matter the motivation.

"Good morning, Yo—Miss Relena," Pargan said, looking up from pouring Noin's coffee. She was slowly breaking him of the 'Your Highness' thing, but it was taking time. At least he made more of an effort now. Perhaps Noin had something to do with that. Relena returned the greeting and sat in the chair across from Noin, nodding at Pargan as he poured her a demitasse of coffee to go with her orange juice and toast.

Neither she nor Noin was very talkative at breakfast, so they ate in comfortable silence for several minutes as Noin scanned the newspaper and Relena stared absently out the window. She was studying a rosebush across the lawn and idly chewing a mouthful of toast when someone suddenly popped into her field of vision, striding across the lawn in jeans and a t-shirt. She dropped her toast in her surprise and turned quickly to look at Noin, eyes wide. Noin was still reading the paper.

Frowning, Relena swallowed hastily, wincing in discomfort, and, at a loss for words, emitted a high-pitched squeal, her hands flapping in a panic as she finally attracted her bodyguard's attention. Noin glanced up sharply at the noise and then sat up straight, her face all business with a slight tinge of worry visible underneath. "Miss Relena, what is it?"

Relena jabbed a long-nailed finger toward the window. "There's someone wandering around outside!" she finally hissed.

Noin looked to the window, furrowing her brow, and then suddenly relaxed. "Oh, that's just the new gardener," she said with a grin. "You had me really worried for a moment, there." Apparently satisfied with this answer, Noin went back to her newspaper.

Relena wasn't appeased yet. "We have a new gardener? Since when?" she demanded.

Noin looked back up at her over the top of the page. "I finished checking up on him late yesterday, and he started at five o'clock this morning. He's working Monday through Friday."

Relena crumbled the edge off of her toast. "What's his name?" she asked.

Noin's face scrunched up in thought for a second. "...Karl Gehlen. He's from Austria but he came here in his early teens to live with an uncle and he's been here ever since. Nice, soft-spoken guy." She gave Relena a shrewd look. "Are there any important details I'm forgetting, Miss Relena?" she asked in a distinctly teasing tone.

Relena ignored her. "No, I think that is more than adequate, Noin," she said primly, picking up her orange juice. "I am always glad to hear that you are thorough in your work."

Noin snorted, and Relena would have glared if she hadn't been drinking right then. When she put down her glass, Noin stood up and folded her paper. "Well, Miss, let's get going or you'll be late for school. Wouldn't want that, would we?"

Relena groaned and got up to follow Noin out of the room, grabbing her bookbag off of a nearby chair as she left. She had a test in Math today. It was the only subject she currently had a hope of passing in spite of the language barrier, but tests were tests.

As Noin guided her little, blue car down the gravel drive, Relena peered out the window as discreetly as she could manage, looking for a better glimpse of the new gardener, Karl. She got one, and her eyebrows nearly shot into her hairline when she saw him.

_God, he's cute! Wait till I tell Dorothy!_ she thought with a silly grin, hugging her bag to her chest. That Math test didn't seem so ominous, anymore.

* * *

A/N: I find Relena's trials of a (comparatively) normal teenage life a striking contrast to, well, everyone else. And it amuses me greatly. Don't get too disgusted by her innocence and carefree-ness; she doesn't know any better. YET. 


	54. The Seeds of Doubt

A/N: There's a lot going on in this one, whee. I also have some more Ombres up on my eljay (link in my profile), if you're into that sort of thing.

Disclaimer: None of it is mine, so please don't sue me svp.

* * *

Deadly Beautiful – Chapter 54

_by danse_

* * *

It was Thursday, so after her History class ended, Relena scooped up her books hurriedly and made for the locker room to change for her tennis club. When Relena strode in, Dorothy, whose locker in the changing area was two down from hers, was already in there, pulling out her gym clothes and racquet. She looked up as she was loosening her tie and her expression changed to that maliciously amused one she usually treated the princess to. 

"Relena, _hello_! And how are you today?" she said mock-cheerfully as she shucked off her blazer and tie and hung them both up in her locker.

Relena rolled her eyes and dropped her bag next to the bench before grabbing her combination lock to open it. "I'm very well, Dorothy; thank you _ever_ so much for asking." The thought occurred to her that she shouldn't encourage the other girl's snarkiness, but then who could say it would stop anyway? She hauled her tennis racquet out of her locker and propped it up against the bench before grabbing her own gym clothes.

"So, have you blown the new gardener yet?" Dorothy asked as she tied the laces of her running shoes.

Relena felt her face go hot. "_What_ did you just say? I never thought you could be so crude!" she snapped.

The filthy-mouthed heiress just snickered. "Well, the way you were going on about him the other day... What, you've never messed around with boys—or men—before?"

The heat spread to Relena's ears. "I—what—w_hat business is that of yours?_" She stood up in a huff. "I don't care if you're... if you're going _down_ on your private tutors when you're supposed to be learning History, but _I_ have _decorum._" She lifted her chin proudly, willing her blush to go away.

A practiced eye could see Dorothy's jaw clench for a split second before she burst out laughing, nearly doubling over in her mirth. "Decorum! Did you even know that word before you moved here? Oh my." She wiped at her eyes. "You can't take a joke at _all_, can you, Princess?" she said.

Relena finished tying her shoes and snatched up her tennis racket, brandishing it at Dorothy. "I've told you before not to call me that," she said. "Now if you'll excuse me, I need to go work on my serves."

Dorothy grabbed her equipment and followed Relena out of the changing room. "You know," she said into her ear, "OZ sent him."

The Crown Princess of Liechtenstein stopped in her tracks and turned around slowly with a look of calm venom on her face. "Pardon me?" she said.

Like a cat that had just got the cream, Dorothy said, "OZ. They sent your gardener, and not to trim the hedges to look like elephants. You're being watched very carefully indeed, Your Highness. I'd lock my doors at night, if I were you."

"Ah. I suppose that all of those members of your esteemed family, who naturally hold you in their deepest confidence, were the ones who told you this?" Relena replied. She turned away, catching a tennis ball that another girl tossed at her. "Thank you ever so much for giving me a heads-up," she said over her shoulder.

She stared at the ball in her hand as she hurried to the farthest court to warm up, squeezing it until the skin turned white under her fingernails. Dorothy always seemed to know just where all the chinks were in a person's armour.

* * *

When Noin brought Relena home after her tennis club finished up, she had to excuse herself almost right away. "I have some things that I need to go take care of," she said. "I'll be back in an hour. Get started on your homework, okay?" 

As soon as she was safely gone, Relena sidled past Pargan and made her way to the west garden, where the new gardener was spreading what looked and smelled like fertilizer around some shrubs with a spade.

"Um," Relena managed as she approached.

He looked up at the sound of her voice and his gaze felt like it was stabbing her, but unknowingly. After a second or two, he straightened, wincing, and stabbed his spade into the rosebed. "Uh, hello," he said in a thick German accent. "You are Miss Relena, yes?"

She couldn't speak. Praying wildly that she wouldn't blush for the second time that day, she managed to smile. "Uh, yes. Yes, that's me. Your name is Mr. Gehlen, right?"

"Call me Karl, please, Miss," he said, leaning on the spade.

"Call me Relena," she answered, feeling more comfortable.

He raised his eyebrows. "Oh, I could not. That would be... not right."

Sensing an awkward silence approaching, she cast around for something else to talk about before he excused himself back to his work. "Your English is really good," she said. "When did you learn it, if you don't mind my asking?"

He yanked off a gardening glove and scratched his nose. "Eh... I have learned it in school. My uncle, he is a teacher and he made me practice a lot." He grinned. "Can you speak some German, Miss?"

The threatening blush erupted on her cheeks. She ducked her head. "Not really," she said. "It's kind of hard."

He laughed at that, and it was the best sound she'd ever heard. "Would you like me to teach you some German words?" he asked.

She looked up in surprise. "Really?"

"Ya."

She chewed her lip for a second as she thought about it, but there really was no choice, as far as she was concerned, if she wanted to get to know him better. "Okay. Teach me some words."

He looked around, then gestured down at the spade he was leaning on. "Spaten," he said.

"S-spaten," she repeated.

He grinned and pointed at the wheelbarrow of fertilizer to his left. "Schubkarren."

"Sorry?"

"Schubkarren," he repeated more slowly.

"Schub... karren."

"Ya, ya, you are good at this. One more, okay?" He picked up his discarded glove from the grass and waved it at her. "Handschuhe," he said.

"Handschuhe," she repeated carefully. "Spaten... Schubkarren... Handschuhe."

"I do not see why you have such trouble learning German," he said. "You seem talented to me."

"I... Uhh... Thank you!" she said. "I mean, danke!"

Karl smiled at her and then picked up his spade again, clearly attempting to signal an end to the conversation. Relena reluctantly waved goodbye and clasped her hands behind her back as she made her way back inside and to her waiting homework. _He's so nice as well as being ridiculously gorgeous, _she thought as she let herself back in the house. _Dorothy's gotta be full of it; he can't be working for OZ or out to get me._ _He just can't._

* * *

The thing that Noin had needed to take care of was Zechs, who was back on the same park bench he'd met her at the last time, watching the ducks again. It was a cool and windy day, so the ducks all bobbed in unison on the choppy pond surface, their heads scrunched into their chests. 

"I should have worn a heavier sweater," Noin said as she seated herself beside Zechs on the bench. "I didn't think it would be so windy in the park."

"I won't keep you too long," Zechs assured her. "So, what's new?"

"Nothing, really," Noin said. "Everything's just kind of... stagnant, I guess. Since the last time we spoke, I mean. Relena and I are running out of tourist attractions to see; she still sucks at German but has discovered an inexplicable love for bratwurst; she and her friend Dorothy still seem to be at each others' throats more often than not... oh, and I think she's got a crush on the new gardener." She chuckled.

"New gardener? You hired someone?" Zechs sounded agitated.

"Yes, last week in fact," Noin said, giving him her best 'I'm sure you don't have a problem with this' look. "Don't give me that look, Zechs Merquise. I checked him out thoroughly. You know, I remember a time when my word was good enough for you."

He winced and looked down at his hands, clasped loosely in his lap. "Sorry, Lucy. I just... I worry about her, you know? Just overprotectiveness, I guess."

She stifled a smile at the revival of her old nickname. "Speaking as a girl who grew up with four older brothers, I understand that concept completely, and I assure you that if Relena ever gets a firsthand taste of that overprotectiveness, she'll hate you for it."

"You girls and your harsh words," Zechs said peaceably. "Well, I'm glad everything's still going smoothly for you."

"How are things back at OZ?" Noin said quickly, before he could end the conversation. As much as she enjoyed living the high life and not killing people or being blown up or shot at, these clandestine meetings and tastes of what counted for normalcy in her life were starting to leave her feeling like a housewife who dreams of going back to the workforce.

He sagged a little, which indicated that the answer would not be 'fabulous'. "It's all a goddamn mess, Lucy. You remember that I told you about that base we lost in Georgia, right?" When she nodded, he went on. "Well, we've lost another one in Algeria since then and shortly after that, Dekim Barton's wife was poisoned at a party. You know who he is? Big shot from Romefeller. Anyway, Barton's son was also assassinated a few months ago, and he's convinced now that someone's trying to get to him by picking off his family. Commander Treize is pretty sure the wife's death was a botched attempt on Barton himself, though."

Noin frowned. "I remember seeing Mrs. Barton once. She did a lot of charity work; who would want to kill her?"

Zechs shrugged. "The details are many and complicated, but I'm inclined to agree with the commander that the poison was meant for Barton himself. Anyway, following that, there was some marginally better news: someone tried to infiltrate a Leo base in Siberia, probably to destroy it, but he did it alone and ended up being captured. It was a teenage kid, Noin. Can you believe it?"

"Yes," she said hollowly. "Yes, I can believe that."

Zechs continued. "I never got to set eyes on him before some other kamikaze kid came and busted him out of there, but I'm fairly sure from the physical description that I've seen him before, and that I know what's going on here now."

"Oh?"

He shifted his position to look at her seriously. "Five teenage boys, at the very least. They're the problem here, and they've blown up five bases, attempted a sixth and assassinated two people. Someone's got child soldiers!" he said with an incredulous laugh, as if it could actually be funny.

Noin felt numb. "Who's doing this? Who's figured OZ out?" she asked.

"Well, I still don't get to hear everything firsthand," he said. "Most of what I just told you is accumulated rumours and me drawing conclusions based on what I've seen for myself. I think it's this group called White Fang, though."

She looked at him curiously. "Where have I heard that name before?"

"Probably back at school," he answered. "White Fang was a special branch of OZ when it was first conceived and put together; it was responsible for a lot of the research and development of the original divisions, particularly the Leo and Aries ones. Taurus, Pisces and Cancer were built up after the White Fang branch disintegrated but from some of their ideas."

Some of what he said was ringing bells. "What happened to them then, if they used to be part of OZ but broke apart?"

"I'm not really sure, but I've heard that some of the higher-ranked scientists and their assistants deserted and started up a resistance movement. They kept the name as some kind of symbolic gesture."

"And then they developed child soldiers and sent them to start a guerilla war? How is that better than what OZ is trying to do?" Noin demanded.

Zechs shrugged. "The politics of it are not my department," he said. "I'm a soldier and that's all I'm fit to do."

Noin sank into the bench and stared at the choppy water of the pond. Her head was practically spinning from the onslaught of all this information—intrigue, insurrection, continued loss of life on their side. It didn't seem to take much time removed from it all to feel like it was impossible to keep up with the fast pace of the whole game.

"Keep your guard up, Noin," Zechs said, as if he could read her thoughts. "I don't know what these kids or their group are up to, but I can't help but feel like all the shit's about to hit the fan." He took her hand in his and squeezed it, possibly offering comfort or possibly seeking it.

She squeezed back, regardless.

* * *

"Duo!" Hilde called as she opened his front door. "Duo, where--" She stopped dead and leaned over the couch, peering down at him through the gloom. "How long have you been lying there?" she asked. "Weren't you there when I left yesterday?" 

He glared up at her and shifted to face the back of the couch instead. "What's your point?"

She dumped the bags she was holding—groceries, from the looks of them—on the floor and grabbed his shoulder, hauling him over onto his back again. "My point is that you've been on this couch for three whole days and I'm pretty sure there's nothing physically wrong with you except some fading bruises. The doctor agreed with me, so don't you fucking start," she said, raising a finger when he opened his mouth to protest. Her face took on that look she was going to be wearing permanently once she had kids, and she crossed her arms. "Get. Up."

Duo turned back over, determined to have none of it. "Don't you have to go to work or something?" he said.

Hilde grabbed his shoulder again but he refused to budge this time. "I _did_ go to work, and then I came home. I even bought you groceries on the way, since the only thing in your fridge is half a bottle of mustard and some lettuce that needs to be thrown out. It's 7 p.m. and you'd know that if you could be bothered to open your blinds and let some daylight in here once in a while." As she said that, she stalked over to the window and yanked up the blinds in question, causing a square of evening sunshine to fall right on Duo's face.

He groaned and covered his eyes. "Don't you have your own home to go to? I'm a big boy, so leave me alone."

"You're acting more like a big baby, and I'm starting to wonder what you'd do without me around to make sure you don't die," she growled back, snatching up the grocery bags. "Get off your ass and come help me put this stuff away. It's your food."

He bit back the retort that he hadn't asked for it and she could keep it, and eased himself to his feet. There really was nothing physically wrong with him, except for stiff joints and a tender shoulder. Doctors didn't examine broken hearts or spirits, though, and Hilde was thankfully unaware that he was suffering from either one. He grabbed the nearest bag off of the counter and started putting vegetables away in the fridge, stopping only to haul out the unfortunate-looking head of lettuce that Hilde had mentioned.

"How long have I been back home, now? Four days?" he said, after emptying a bag into the vegetable drawer.

"Yes."

"And how long was I gone before that?" he said hesitantly. The fact that he'd disappeared and Hilde hadn't known what happened until he'd come stumbling back home was a bit of a sore spot for her.

Her voice was remarkably composed. "A week," she said, shoving cereal in the cupboard with unnecessary force.

He studied a carton of milk as he tried to decide how to phrase his next question. "And has G or anyone mentioned anything about me in that time?"

She stopped and turned to him with a can of soup in her hand, looking puzzled. "No."

Duo shut the fridge. "That's interesting."

"How so?" Hilde's full attention was on him now; she leaned back against the counter and looked at him.

He played with the fridge door absently, opening and closing it in increments and watching when the light switched on and off. "Because," he said, "it's been eleven days and I haven't been in contact at all. There should be headhunters hiding in the closet by now."

"But I don't get it," she said. "You've gone away on long missions before, right?"

"Yeah, but this little trip had nothing to do with G or any of his people. I've basically been AWOL for eleven days. Well, longer, actually. I haven't been into the office in over three weeks and no one's said anything."

Hilde smiled ruefully. "Maybe that means you're fired," she said.

He looked up sharply. "Have you been on any operations since you went to Lebanon?"

"Two."

"When was the last one?"

"A week ago," she said. "I had to go to Austria and I got back, like, the day before you came home."

A sick feeling settled in his stomach and Duo rubbed his face. "Do you want a ride to work tomorrow?" he asked.

Hilde eyed him. "You're going in to work?"

"No," he snapped, "I just miss driving through rush hour in Manhattan. Do you want one or not?"

"Okay," she said quickly. "I'll see you tomorrow morning." She had the good sense to leave after that.

Duo waited till the door shut behind her and then wadded up all of the empty plastic bags and shoved them deep into the garbage can. After standing there and chewing his lip for a minute, cursing in his head at his own stupidity, he yanked open the fridge and started hauling out things to make a sandwich.

* * *

_Appearance is everything,_ Duo thought as he sauntered into the lobby of G's building the next morning as if he owned the place. His hair was freshly washed and tightly braided and he was dressed like a young millionaire: smart grey pants and suit jacket and a blue striped shirt underneath with the top button undone, exposing his collarbone. Hilde hung off his arm like some A-list wannabe at the Oscars. 

"You should have worn a tie," she muttered in his ear.

"Ties are for the meek," he muttered back. "Have a nice day, doll." He kissed her cheek and slapped her ass as she left his side, and she glared back at him as she shuffled away. He winked.

The receptionist was tracking him like a bloodhound. "Mr. Maxwell?" she said, giving him a once-over and a smile.

He leaned on her counter and grinned back. "Going to the top floor, my dear. Don't bother paging; he knows I'm on my way."

She looked entranced. "Sure thing."

"That's my girl." Duo walked away, wearing his cocksure grin all the way to the elevator.

As soon as the door opened on G's floor, he charged out and streaked right past the startled Helen, yanking open the heavy door to the inner sanctum without actually stopping. G and the twenty-something man he was chatting with both looked up in surprise as he barged in, and Duo simply grabbed the man by the tailored shoulder of his jacket and threw him out into the reception area, shutting the door securely behind him. He turned to face G again, his hands clenched at his sides.

"Long time no see, Duo," G said, having already regained his composure. Duo was determined not to let him get the upper hand, though.

"Fuck you, you stupid old geezer."

The stupid old geezer pinched the formidable bridge of his nose. "Why don't you have a seat?"

Duo crossed the remaining distance to the desk at a near-glide and slammed his hands down on the mahogany. "Why don't you shut the hell up and let _me_ do the talking for a change? Huh? _Why don't you do that?_"

G returned his glare. "Yes, why don't I do that," he said. "What seems to be the problem, here?"

_No,_ Duo thought. _No, do not let him make you feel foolish. Keep up that rage and let him have it all this time._ He took a deep breath. "The problem here is you! I thought I was free of you! I was _free_!"

"You are free; I let you go. I thought you'd realized that was why you weren't dead or back downstairs by now."

"You didn't let me go! You _never _let me go, did you, you fuck? _I'm still tied up in your goddamned games!_" Duo pushed away from the desk and started to pace.

G's eyes never left him. "I'm not sure what you're getting at, sonny. Can you be a little less loud and a little more clear?"

"It was all too simple. Too simple," Duo hissed, treading a trench in the expensive carpet. "Sure, why not let me start lifting supplies from Ivanov and go off without a word for days, weeks at a time? Oh, wow, four new teammates _just like me_ popping right out of nowhere who, after never seeing a trace of them for the past ten-odd years I've been doing this shit, suddenly turn up around every fucking corner! It's obviously all just a big fucking coincidence, isn't it, G?" He stopped behind a plush visitor's chair and glared down his boss again.

G looked away.

Duo smirked. "I knew it." He gripped the back of the chair until his nail beds turned white, and then walked around to sit down in it and clasp his hands over his knees. He leaned forward. "Am I ever going to be free of you?"

"Duo," G said, "you're certainly free of me. You've just gone over my head now."

"What?"

He sighed. "You're a smart kid; think about it. You think I don't have bosses? You think—you think we all don't work for the same damn people? For Christ's sake, Duo, there's always another puppetmaster! We're all just having our strings pulled by someone." He raised his elbows in the air and did a mocking mime of a dancing puppet in his chair.

"Who's pulling your strings then?"

"I can't tell you that."

"Of course not." The teen jumped to his feet, feeling righteous anger surging back into every part of his body. "Of course not," he said louder. "You've got a string attached to your mouth, too, haven't you? Can't fucking tell a guy anything, even if it might help save his ass, can you? And at the same time, you just keep taking! Taking and taking and _taking!_" He could hear his voice wavering as it rose to a yell, and he pointed accusingly as his arm started shaking.

He saw with sick satisfaction that he'd just pushed G's last button. The old man lurched out of his chair and it sailed backwards and knocked into the thick, floor-to-ceiling window. "What, Maxwell? What am I taking from you now?" G demanded, his arms spread as if he was Jesus and talking about slings and arrows or something.

"You fucking know! Fucking _Hilde!_" Duo yelled, slamming his palms down on the desk again. "Jerking her strings, too! What good is she to you, dammit? She's not cut out for a life like this and you and I both know it. You gonna get her killed someplace and teach me a lesson? Huh? Need that last little victory over me? Well, you've fucking got it, don't you?" Duo, still pointing shakily, backed around the chair and toward the door, his eyes glued on the man before him. His voice, already pushed near its limit by emotion, fell nearly to a whisper. "You've got your pound of flesh, you piece of shit."

"Duo," G started, but Duo grabbed the door handle behind him and stepped out of the office, slamming the door as hard as he could. He flicked a glance at Helen and the guy he'd manhandled as he stalked away, and no one said a word.

He looked down at his hands after he'd jabbed the elevator button, and stuffed them into his pants pockets as he willed them to stop shaking. He'd really thought that would feel better than it had, but in the end it figured that he was still being manipulated by people too far above him to see. The bigger picture... it was lost. He stepped into the elevator.

* * *

"Yo, Hilde! Hilde!" 

Hilde stopped kicking and steadied the bodybag in front of her as a guy she vaguely recognized jogged across the gym, waving. She stooped to pick up her towel and started scrubbing at her arms and neck with it. "What?" she said.

The guy stopped a few feet away, huffing a bit. "You're wanted in G's office," he said.

She frowned. "Really?"

He nodded. "As soon as possible."

She raised an eyebrow and started unstrapping her boxing gloves, allowing him to help her get the first one off. "Thanks," she said, picking up her stuff and heading for the shower.

Fifteen minutes later, she was back in her business attire and smiling at Helen as she pushed open the big, wooden door. G sat sombrely behind his desk and as soon as her foot crossed the threshold, a warning bell went off in her head. She made her way cautiously to a chair and sank into it.

"You wanted to see me, sir?"

"Yes, Ms. Schbeiker." He steepled his fingers in front of his chin and pressed them against his lip. "I'm not sure how to make this gentle, so I'll just say it. I'm letting you go."

The words echoed in her ears and she uncrossed and recrossed her legs, gripping the arms of the chair. "Sorry?" she said with a little laugh, hoping this was some kind of joke.

"Look, Hilde, you don't want to keep doing this; you risk your life every time you go out in the field and someday, sooner or later, chance is going to beat you. It's time to move on."

This was not happening. Not. Happening. She cleared her throat. "G, I don't—why are you doing this? What else can I do with myself?" She heard her voice rising a bit hysterically but couldn't seem to stop it. "My last job was as a _prostitute_, for god's sake. And now I'm a—a secret agent! An assassin! How many jobs do you think I can get with that on my resume? I don't have a high school education! You're—you're basically killing me by trying to save my life, is what you're doing here!"

He held up a hand. "And that's why I'm happy to give you a glowing reference for the last several months of dedicated office work you've been paid to do here," he said, his look pinning her to the seat. "Truly, I think you'll find that all the people you've worked with in the accounting department to this day will have nothing but nice things to say about you, and that will help you in finding a new job."

His words—and their significance—sank in, and she felt her cheeks heat with embarrassment. So he wasn't just throwing her out without a care. And the price of this consideration was obviously going to be absolute silence. She looked down at the floor, studying the pattern of the carpet as she tried to compose herself.

"Ms. Schbeiker?" G said. "I'm going to call a member of security personnel to help you gather your personal possessions and escort you from the building now."

She nodded and looked up at him, and everything was blurry through the tears that were forming. "Thank you, sir," she whispered, and was surprised to realize that she actually meant it.

* * *

A/N: ...And that's the last G will see of Hilde. Obviously, it's not the last we'll see of her, though. She's got a life and a storyline to get on with, anyway. Take it easy and I'll see you next time, folks. 


	55. Knights of Cydonia

A/N: Chapter title is that of a song by Muse. Check it (and them) out if you never have.

Disclaimer: Fifty-fifth verse, same as the first. Gundam Wing is not mine and I'm making no profit from this.

* * *

Deadly Beautiful – Chapter 55

_by danse_

* * *

It was nearly the hottest time of the year but the promise of another day of withering temperatures was lightened somewhat by a thin breeze. It wasn't quite ambitious enough to be called 'cool' but it stirred the hairs on the back of Quatre's neck in a tantalizing way and he shut his eyes to enjoy it properly. A giggle from his left interrupted his moment of pleasure and he peeked his eyes open again to see Iria smother her smile by biting into a danish. He resisted the urge to stick his tongue out at her and turned his attention to their father, who sat across from them in stately repose with his sunglasses perched on his head and an iced coffee in front of him. He was watching people strolling by on the street. 

"Sorry," she whispered, that impish grin still lingering. "You had the silliest little smile on your face, you know."

"Iria, darling, don't torment your brother," said the head of Winner Enterprises. "I should think that he'll be getting enough of that from all the other girls now that he's back. And you will be, too, if God is just." His lips twitched upwards and for a second he looked just like her.

Quatre decided that particular subject needed no further pursuit. "This is a lovely breakfast, Father, but I'm surprised you're not at the office this morning. Haven't you got a lot of work to do?"

His father shrugged one shoulder. "It's nice to get away now and then, especially to spend some rare quality time with my lovely children. As well as you two." He grinned. "In all honesty, though, I'm so glad you've come back. The company is going through a tough time right now and so am I; it's very reassuring to me to have all my children nearby and able to help out. It's about time you learned the ropes, anyway."

Quatre looked down at the table. _Of course_, he thought. _Iria was right. We're here to save the company, aren't we?_ But it was hard to escape being the dutiful son now that he'd been coaxed and cajoled back into the fold. "What kind of tough time?" he asked, dragging his gaze back up to his father.

Mr. Winner pushed his coffee away and leaned over the table towards his children, clasping his hands on the smooth tabletop. "It's been about two weeks in the making, now. Four of my senior board members have forsaken me and their years of loyalty to the company and sold out their shares to a third party right under my nose. This group has nearly amassed a controlling share and now we're being threatened with a hostile takeover. It's all getting very expensive and ugly."

Quatre stared. "Who the hell is doing this?"

Mr. Winner rubbed at his face with both hands. For the first time in Quatre's memory, he really looked old. "It's an automotive outfit, but I've done a little digging and it turns out that it's merely a subsidiary of a larger conglomerate."

"Something American?" Iria piped up.

He shook his head. "It's originally based out of France, although it has branched out into the UK and Germany. The name is Romefeller; I don't suppose you've heard of it."

Quatre abruptly inhaled a mouthful of juice and started choking.

"What's wrong? Are you okay?" his father said.

Iria leaped out of her chair and moved to assist him, but he managed to hold up a hand to stop her as he struggled to draw breath. His other hand gripped the edge of the cafe table hard enough that it looked like he might leave finger marks in its polished top. He wheezed and coughed for a minute or two until he could breathe enough to wipe the tears from his eyes. "I'm fine, I'm fine," he croaked, chuckling a little from the embarrassment. Other patrons were staring. "It just went down the wrong way, that's all. Really, Iria, I'm okay."

His father and sister settled in their chairs again, shooting him worried looks, but didn't say anything. Quatre composed himself, looked at his juice and then thought better of it. "Romefeller, you say." He turned his attention back to his father.

"_Have _you heard of them, Quatre?" he asked.

"Um. The name is vaguely familiar. Maybe I heard it on TV or something," he said, glancing down at his glass. "Do you have a plan?" he said a bit desperately.

The Winner patriarch pulled his sunglasses off of his head and squinted at them in the light. "So far, I'm just buying time," he said, grabbing a napkin to clean the lenses. "I've checked with the lawyers and accountants and they're all working on the problem and looking into the dirty details, but I'm not sure we have legal recourse at this point to pull the rug out from under them. Ours isn't the first company that they've tried this with, and it probably won't be the last. The rest of the board is starting to suggest that we should capitulate. It could be that the only option is to merely settle for the highest sum possible and start over."

Iria touched his hand and frowned. "Father, you're not a young man anymore. Do you really think you can start over from nothing again?"

"It's hardly starting from nothing, Iria," he said. "The family still has a fortune and I have a great number of business contacts at my disposal."

"Father, why can't you just take this as an opportunity to retire?" Quatre asked. "You're at a respectable age to do it and you can certainly afford to, and I'm sure Mother would appreciate it." Mr. Winner's fifth wife had gone to school with Quatre's oldest sister, Nadia, and he knew that most of the family referred to her as 'Mother' with some scorn. He'd left home just after the wedding.

"What would I do with myself then?" he said. "No, your mother would probably get sick of me if I wasn't off at work all day, making her more money to spend. Besides, my children and grandchildren need something to inherit besides houses and bank accounts." He smiled again. "We'll work out something, and I'll hold out for as long as I can for a better answer. In the meantime, you two need to learn all about the business."

Quatre leaned back in his chair and stared up at the sky. This family breakfast had left him with a lot to digest besides pastries and tangerine juice.

* * *

Wufei weaved through the lunchtime crowd, holding his tray high to avoid hitting someone in the face with it. The teapot on top rattled alarmingly as he dodged a little girl abruptly pushing back her chair into his path and he bit back a curse; sometimes he just had to wonder how he got himself into these situations and in the name of _what_, exactly. 

Seeing that the target of his attentions was playing with her PDA, he slowed down to a nearly silent prowl and slipped up behind her, praying for a glimpse of anything at all. Unfortunately, the sun was glinting off of the screen from his angle, and then she realized he was there and straightened, slipping the device back into her purse. He felt a familiar tic emerge in his jaw and fought it back.

"_Votre thé, madame,_" he said, setting the table with the tea things.

"_Merci,_" Une said distractedly, her body language dismissing him as soon as he'd poured her first cup.

He had a half-formed idea of lingering around the table for a few minutes, in the hope that her rare spacey mood—_What could she so be preoccupied with,_ he thought—would mean that she'd give away some clue he could use in his investigation, but just then his pager vibrated loudly enough that she noticed and Wufei was forced to run back to the safety of the kitchen with a hand clapped against his hip, muttering the whole way.

When he'd slipped out the back door of the café and was leaning safely against a dirty brick wall in the alley, he checked the screen of his pager. Scrolling across it were the words, "Happy birthday Chang – From O".

Wufei swore loudly in his own language and then kept up the tirade for a few moments longer at less volume, just because the syllables felt so good coming off of his tongue after days and days of speaking only French.

He clenched his pager in one hand as he slumped against the wall. He'd call O later, after his shift was over.

* * *

Duo's survival instincts were starting to go soft; after he startled awake and tipped off of the couch onto the floor, it took him several seconds to figure out where he was, and a few more after that to realize that not only was someone hammering on the door but it had also been what woke him up in the first place. He glared across the carpet at the door. 

"Are you alive in there or what?" Her voice was muffled but she clearly thought that volume would help her get the point across. "I left my key downstairs." She paused. Duo continued to stare at the door from his position on the floor: belly-down and propped up on his elbows. "I come bearing pizza," she said eventually, sounding like she was rolling her eyes at the same time.

Duo hauled himself up to go unlock the door.

"It figures that nothing but the promise of food would get you to let in a caring friend," Hilde said as he took the pizza box and left her in the doorway. "Do I at least get a tip?"

Duo snorted. "I'd let a Jehovah's Witness in if they had pepperoni and breadsticks with them. They really should have thought of that, you know; it's a good marketing scheme. 'Find God and get $5 off at Ray's Pizza,'" he intoned, raising his free hand to mime a marquee in the air.

Hilde came to join him on the couch after grabbing two Cokes out of the fridge. She looked tired but she was smiling a little, which was something he hadn't seen in a while. "You sound more like yourself," she said as she handed him a can.

For a second, inhaling the delicious, just-opened-the-box pizza aroma took precidence over answering her. Double pepperoni and black olives on half—he'd trained her well. "Pizza is scientifically proven to be a mood-booster."

She grabbed a slice for herself and settled back into the couch cushions. "Still sleeping a lot?"

He chewed his food quietly for as long as he thought he could get away with not speaking. Obviously they were going to have this awkward conversation about his feelings and the hole his life was in and he was out of escape routes. Entrapment by pizza; she really had learned a thing or two. Half a slice later, he said, "Well, there's not much on TV in the afternoons."

Surprisingly, she laughed. "You're telling me. I only went for pizza because I've discovered that four hours of CSI is my limit."

"It's only been two days," he said magnanimously. "You can't be sick of daytime TV already. I mean, you haven't even explored the depths of the morning talk show circuit or the Food Network yet."

Hilde giggled around a mouthful of pizza. "Oh, teach me, Wise One. I clearly have much yet to learn."

He noticed he was relaxing properly for the first time in a couple of days. "How is unemployment treating you, anyway?" he asked, hoping he wasn't breaching a sore topic.

She wiped her hands on a napkin. "I went down to the library yesterday to type up my resume and spend some quality time on job searching sites. I've applied for like five positions so far, so we'll see how things go. At least I have qualifications and experience now, however made-up some of it might be."

He shrugged. "I don't think there's anything you can't handle. Even if you didn't finish high school or anything, you've probably got a better head on your shoulders than some people with college degrees." A thought suddenly struck him. "Should you still be _in_ high school?"

She took on a haughty look. "_Please_, Duo. I have _several _pieces of ID that clearly state my age to be 22."

A smirk fought its way onto his face. "Are any of them actually real?"

Her smirk matched his. "They look as real as real ones do."

"G's got some talented forgers."

"I called it part of my severance package."

"Look, Hilde, I'm really sorr--"

She held up a hand in front of him. He clammed up.

"You have nothing to apologize for," she said quietly, "so I hope you're not beating yourself up over this. None of it is your fault. Besides, I came out ahead, didn't I? I have savings, my own place, work experience... and I don't feel nervous when I go out alone at night anymore. Knowing I can beat the shit out of anyone who tries anything on the street is a nice perk."

Duo frowned. "Going out alone made you feel uneasy? How the hell did you manage all those years when you were... you know..."

"When I was a hooker, you mean?" She wore a ghost of a smile. "Barely. You'll note that I can run in heels pretty fast. That took practice."

He also remembered the bruises she used to sport. Hilde really didn't bruise all that easily. He looked down at his hands, feeling the silence press in. How had they managed to run into so many awkward subjects so easily? His appetite was dwindling fast.

He was a little startled when she reached for more pizza. "So," she said, as if the past five minutes hadn't happened, "how is unemployment treating _you_?"

He let his head sag back into the couch. "It's done wonders for my social life."

"Always with the sarcasm. Speaking of your social life, have you heard anything from anyone lately?"

Duo rolled his head listlessly to an angle where he could see her. "Like who? You're, like, my only friend. Certainly the best one." In retrospect, it was a little embarrassing to say that out loud, but the blush and the pleased look that suddenly rushed across Hilde's face at the admission made him feel a little better.

"I-I meant. The other guys. You know," she stammered, reaching for her drink to buy herself time to recover. Sometimes he really loved her.

"Oh, them." As if he hadn't known immediately who she meant. "No, I haven't heard a word. Everyone's... gone their separate ways." Man, she had the right idea. He was _thirsty_ all of a sudden.

"Don't you have any way of contacting them?"

He tilted his head a little to the side. "Well..."

"So you do."

"Kind of..." Quatre's contact number was around somewhere, at least. He was pretty sure. Maybe in his cell phone?

"Then why are you waiting around for someone to get ahold of you?" she said in a damnably reasonable tone. "If you want contact... with _anyone_..."—and wasn't _that_ some suspicious emphasis, he realized—"then start things off yourself. It's just that simple." She started on her third slice of pizza, apparently oblivious to his confusion.

She really just didn't get it. It was so much more complicated than she made it out to be. Then again, he hadn't exactly been forthcoming with details of what had happened when Heero had gone to Russia to rescue his ass. In fact, she didn't even know Heero had any connection to that fiasco at all, because he'd basically told her nothing about it.

And he didn't plan to.

She jarred him back to the present by turning on the TV. "So, let's start my daytime programming education," she said brightly. "Who knows when I'm going to get offered an interview, anyway. Ooh, is that a MacGuyver rerun?"

She was quickly distracted by the TV and cracking mullet jokes like they'd been doing this all day. He spent a moment staring at her in disbelief and then abruptly gave up, getting up with a sigh to grab more drinks from the kitchen.

* * *

The faint scrape of wood sliding against wood as he pushed up the windowpane was one of the last detectable sounds Heero would make for quite some time as he broke into Liechtenstein's royal palace. As soon as he'd made a space big enough to squeeze through, he slithered his way in, first working one leg over the sill and bending in half to fit his torso through, propping his elbow on the frame to steady the hand supporting the sliding pane as he went, so that the window wouldn't come crashing down on his ribs. It was a feat of balance and flexibility to slowly pull his other leg into the room without making a noise and he let out a slow breath of relief when he had both feet firmly planted in the thick carpet. 

After gently sliding the window shut again, he looked around, waiting for his eyes to adjust to the light. He was in a disused room on the second floor of the north wing (he could feel the prick and scratch of thorns in his clothes from climbing a rose trellis up to this level) and he was surrounded in the dark by ghostly, dusty lumps of draped furniture. His night vision sharpened enough to see that the corner of a cloth had slipped to reveal part of a settee that was probably from the turn of the century, at least; the back was mostly ornately carved hardwood—mahogany, perhaps—with a distinctly uncomfortable-looking, striped cushion tacked onto it. It could be years yet before anyone cared enough to dust off the contents of this room and many others, let alone rearrange and use them again. Heero squinted around in the dark and made out the vague shape of the door against the lighter wallpaper. His footsteps were completely absorbed by the expensive carpet and the layer of dust on it.

Once he was in the hallway, he had a much better idea of his bearings. From examining and counting the windows from outside in the evenings, he knew that the princess' room lay a short way to his left down the hallway; her protector Noin's bedroom was to the right. As dim as it was in here in the middle of the night, with the only light sources being distant streetlights and a waning moon, Heero's black form was still too visible for his taste against the cream-coloured wallpaper to his back, so he relied on silence to keep his cover as he moved.

It took him an agonizing few moments to work out which of two closed doors led into the room he wanted, but by working out his distance from the end of the hallway, he shortly settled on the right one. The ivory doorknob was smooth under his hand and he imagined that if he weren't wearing gloves it would feel pleasantly cool on his palm as well, because he was finding himself starting to sweat a little. It had to be the still air and his long sleeves, he thought. It was summer, after all. He turned the knob incrementally, praying that the mechanism was well-oiled. To his enormous satisfaction, the door opened with only the faintest of clicks. _That's only the kind of quality workmanship you'd expect to find in a palace,_ he thought as he slipped into Relena's bedroom.

She'd left the drapes open and it was lighter inside. He could see everything in surprising detail, although the night still washed out the colours. The furniture was carved and gilt and large and the walls were bare except for some framed paintings; it wouldn't have looked at all like a teenage girl's room except for the clothing strewn everywhere and the makeup and accessories that covered the bureau. There was a teddy bear on the floor in front of her nightstand that looked like it had started out the night on the bed. These touches almost helped it seem like she'd settled in here, despite the austerity she'd had to work with.

The target herself was fast asleep in a pile of pillows and sheets, crowded on one side of her enormous bed. He picked his way through the mess on the floor, hoping not to step on anything that would hurt or make noise, and ended up beside the bed, level with her knees. Her face was half-obscured by her arm and her hair shone a little in the light coming through the window. She looked peaceful. He froze when she suddenly wrinkled her nose and shifted halfway onto her back but she didn't wake; her mouth was slack with dreams.

This was it. Heero reached for the knife strapped to his thigh. The blade caught much more of the moonlight than her hair did and it shone a wicked silver in the dark. He examined it briefly. _Handschuhe_, he thought, unbidden. He looked at her and tightened his grip on the knife, trying to take the last step forward. _Handschuhe, _he thought again, and then, _Oh, fuck._

He couldn't do it.

* * *

Noin startled to full awareness before her brain even had a chance to process that she was awake. Her eyes were still closed, though, and she listened carefully for noises around her even as she was calming her breathing and slowly moving her hand farther under her pillow for her gun. At the creak from her right, she opened her eyes and had the gun pointing at the source of the noise before she'd focussed enough to see what the source was. It turned out to be the outline of a person, standing by the door. 

"If you even twitch, I swear I will fill you with bullets," she said calmly.

"Fair enough." The voice caught her a little off-guard—she recognized it.

Noin sat up slowly, her aim never wavering. "Karl?"

"That's how you know me, yes." So smooth, cool as a cucumber, in fact... and speaking perfect English? She shot a glance at her alarm clock and saw that it was well after three in the morning. _Curiouser and curiouser_, she thought. She didn't like this at all, and she was feeling more agitated every second. Her trigger finger itched.

She huffed, squinted her eyes, and turned on the bedside table lamp. Karl flinched away noticeably and as she focussed on him through watery eyes, blinking away pain and the purple afterimages of turning the light on, she saw that he was dressed from head to toe in black. And wearing a thigh holster. With an impressively long knife in it. She brought her other hand up to support the butt of her gun, debating the pros and cons of shooting him dead where he stood. "What the fuck are you doing, Karl? And who sent you to do it?" Maybe narrowing her eyes some more could be seen as a threatening action instead of a reaction to the bright light.

He raised his hands slowly. "I'm unarmed." He saw her pointed look at the knife and amended, "That's my only weapon. Shall I give it to you? You can have it. Here." Keeping his eyes trained on her and her gun, he very slowly reached one hand down to the buckles on the holster and unclipped them with a soft snap. The knife dropped heavily to the floor and he kicked it toward her as he raised both hands in the air again.

She had no control whatsoever over the situation she was in but if he was going to pretend that she did, she decided she wouldn't argue the point. "On your knees, both hands on your head, head on the floor. Now." He obeyed promptly and she got up and patted him down thoroughly with one hand, the other pressing the gun to the back of his skull. She didn't know how safe she was supposed to feel upon finding that he really wasn't carrying any other weapons, because really, he probably didn't need any to take control of most situations, even if she was the one with the gun. But he'd also woken her up instead of killing her in her bed, which he'd no doubt had time to accomplish, the stealthy bastard, so this was probably supposed to be winning some of her trust. She backed off, her finger still riding the edge of the trigger, and told him to get up, slowly.

When he was on his feet again and they were staring at each other in silence, she debated in her head what to do next and then waved him toward the chair in the corner. She sat on the edge of her bed, still refusing to lower her gun. It annoyed her that he didn't look nervous, just slightly cautious. "Answer my questions," she snapped. "You're clearly not the German-speaking gardener I hired and did a background check on, so who are you?"

"Those were well-fabricated credentials," he said. "My name... well, I go by the name Heero Yuy, and I was contracted to assassinate Relena Friedenskraft. They gave me a startling amount of intelligence on her whereabouts and history and schedule, and I used my Karl Gehlen identity to get closer to the target. I was set to kill her tonight."

Noin's stomach churned. "And?" Her voice may have been on the verge of cracking at the end of the word.

Karl—Heero—looked down at the floor for a second before he met her eyes again. "I couldn't do it. I can't do it. I don't want to do it. It's a stupid idea."

"Should I thank you for your thoughtfulness?" She really wanted to shoot him. What was stopping her?

An alarmingly wry grin ghosted across his face. "You're still letting me talk; that's thanks enough."

"I might change my mind. Who sent you?"

"A man called J. He has a lot more operatives, and he'll probably send more people after me to finish the job that I haven't. And there are other people after the princess, too. She's in unbelievable danger."

"Danger from your people," Noin said, glaring. This was bad. This was so _very_ bad.

He actually rolled his eyes. "Yes, we've covered that. This was my third—and may I mention, last—attempt to kill her. My employer sent me to do it to keep her out of the hands of other, certainly more threatening groups, though."

"Like _who_?"

"OZ, for one."

"Excuse me?" A small, detached part of her brain, one that wasn't currently thinking through a red haze, noted that her voice had slipped into an almost polite calm. Her words practically chilled her own throat as she said them.

Heero had noticed the danger, too, and had leaned back into the chair a little as if to put more distance between them. "Are you familiar with them?" he asked.

"Passingly," was all she could bring herself to say.

"Then are you also _passingly_ aware of how many problems you have right now?" Apparently his attitude couldn't be dampered by the threat of imminent death. It had probably lost its charm somewhere along the way.

"You shouldn't lip off people who are pointing guns at you," she chided. "Why are you telling me all of this? Why shouldn't I eliminate my most pressing problem right now?"

He sat up a little; finally, he was going to help her decide if he should just die or not. "OZ wants her, that's for sure. If they wanted to kill her, they would have already done it and then I wouldn't have to do it. They want her alive. No one's told me anything specific about it but I'm sure she ties into their military plans. The history of the throne in this country... they want to use her as a pawn, I'm sure of it. And that can't be allowed to happen, because it might grant them a big advantage." He paused. "But killing her is, pardon my phrasing, a waste of a resource. If she stays alive and out of their hands, it'll strike a bigger blow against them."

"So you propose that one side use her as a pawn instead of the other, then. And we're not even sure who's on the good side, except that it isn't OZ."

He crossed his arms. "I'm prepared to be on 'the good side'. And I know others who will help. I never said this was going to be easy. OZ is a military machine, and a big one at that. Right now it's a guerilla war, and any advantage the smaller team can get is in our best interests."

That was when Noin realized exactly who she was speaking to. "You've been fighting against OZ for a while, then." She watched him nod as she thought through her position. This boy (and was he ever young-looking) thought that OZ was the bad guy, because they wanted to keep the princess alive and use her for their goals. World unity or world domination, depending which side you looked at it from. She was supposed to protect Relena at the same time as she was still supposed to be loyal to OZ. Did OZ know what she was up to and was she another pawn? Had her decision to help Zechs been an unexpected good fortune for them? Was this why Zechs had asked her to help, to protect her from OZ? To protect her from this boy and White Fang, if that was who he worked for? Did Zechs even have a clue what was going on with his sister, as loyal and as favoured as he was to the organization? Did Treize know who Zechs really was? Noin's head spun with possibilities. Heero was still watching her steadily and her gun was still trained on him just as steadily.

Was her first loyalty to OZ or to the girl sleeping down the hall? Where did Zechs want it to be?

Did it matter?

She cleared her throat. "So, what are you proposing?"

Heero's smile was in his eyes and nowhere else. "I want to help you protect her. It's crucial that she stay alive and away from OZ."

She raised an eyebrow. "Because the addition of a skinny, teenaged boy to her personal security is going to be such an improvement," she mocked.

"You underestimate my abilities," he said calmly. His words and tone weren't even arrogant, just confident. He really thought he was hot stuff.

"Whatever your _abilities_, you're still only one man."

"I said there were others. They're as good as me. They'll help. And then we'll be a force to be reckoned with." There it was, finally: a glint of the cockiness of the untested young talent.

Noin sighed. If she'd ever really had the upper hand, she would have asked how she was supposed to be able to trust his intentions, but things being what they were, she was already being forced to trust him. She'd been fighting a losing battle since she woke up and she'd just lost it completely. She lowered her gun, clicking the safety on before tossing it on the mattress beside her. She stood up and extended her right hand to him.

His grip was as firm as hers as they shook hands. "Well, Mr. Yuy, you'd better call the cavalry. Now get out of my house."

He left through her door and she didn't ask how he was going to get out from there. She also didn't sleep for the rest of the night.

* * *

Relena woke early the next morning to streams of sunlight hitting her face. She stretched, peered at the clock, and hugged the teddy bear in her arms a little tighter before rolling over and going back to sleep.

* * *

A/N: School's starting again for me on Monday (my last year! my last year!) but I have a lighter courseload than usual so we'll see how things go. The next chapter is already bothering me so I'll probably get to work on it soon. :D 


	56. I Remember When I Lost My Mind

A/N: Rumours of my death have been greatly exaggerated. Also, "Crazy" by Gnarls Barkley is totally Quatre's theme song. Enjoy.

Disclaimer: Fifty-sixth verse, same as the first.

* * *

Deadly Beautiful – Chapter 56

_by danse_

* * *

There were not enough good things to be said about summer vacations, Relena decided once she was awake enough to think. She stretched out, wiggling her toes, and then craned her neck to read the time on her alarm clock: almost noon. She'd probably be dressed just in time for lunch. Funny that Pargan hadn't woken her earlier, being the stickler for early rising that he was. Giving Teddy a pat—he'd gone a whole night without being knocked on the floor, how about that—she got out of bed and headed for the bathroom.

Twenty minutes later, when she walked into the breakfast room, her attention was immediately distracted by the fact that the cute gardener was there, looking very dashing as usual and drinking tea. He looked over at her and she was suddenly acutely aware that she was wearing an old pair of volleyball sweatpants and a t-shirt. She had a fast-but-furious internal struggle over what to do and then decided that running away to change would only make her look stupider, so she sat down in a vacant chair, poured herself a cup of tea, and hoped she looked at least a little bit regal even in old clothes. She looked up to see Noin staring at her. "Is something the matter?" she asked.

Come to think of it, why _was _the gardener drinking tea with Noin? Wasn't he supposed to be working?

Noin went a bit tense and then set down her teacup very carefully, so obviously something was indeed wrong. Relena put down the sugar pot between spoonfuls and waited.

"Things have changed," Noin said. "Regarding your personal security."

Relena shot a glance at Karl. Maybe she was still asleep and had only dreamed she'd gotten up. She hated those dreams.

"You see..." she continued, looking awkward. "Mr. Gehlen, here... is not really a gardener. I hired him to work undercover."

Relena crossed her arms to disguise the fact that she was pinching the inside of her forearm. Doing that really hurt, so apparently she was not dreaming and this conversation was actually happening. She looked more openly at Karl the Undercover Gardener, who was looking into his teacup. He really was extremely pretty for a labourer. "Undercover," she echoed.

"It was a security measure," she heard Noin say. She was still watching Karl. "And now he and I have discussed some things and we've decided that your security needs to go in a different direction. So from now on, he and a small team of his colleagues will be working here full-time as part of your protection detail."

Relena wasn't sure how to respond to this, and it occurred to her that maybe it wasn't all sinking in properly yet. She reached for her tea and took a sip, but it was too bitter. Wrinkling her nose, she added more sugar and stirred it. Okay, this was just stalling; no one else was talking and they were probably both looking at her.

She took another, more satisfying sip of tea and then looked up. "So I'm in danger, then?" she asked.

Noin's eyes went wide. "No! No, no. Well, no more than you ever were. But still, better safe than sorry, right?" She smiled. Relena wasn't buying that. Noin couldn't even sell it properly.

"All right then. Well. Okay. What kind of changes are we talking about, here? Just more bodyguards? Do I get to meet this 'small team', or are they going to be undercover painters and milkmen?"

The undercover gardener spoke up. "I'm still working out the details of their arrival," he said. "You'll meet them all when they get here, and no, they won't be undercover, at least not as far as you're concerned."

She spent a full minute just obsessing over the smooth, sexy sound of his voice before she realized he was speaking flawless English. "So you're not even German, either?" Her voice may have been a little loud.

He had the courtesy to look embarrassed, which was just charming, the bastard. "I do speak English. And my name isn't actually Karl Gehlen; you can call me Heero."

Heero. "I can't believe you faked sucking at English," she blurted. That deception actually almost hurt. She felt stupid remembering her horrible attempts at conversation, when he could have talked to her in English just fine.

"I'm sorry I deceived you, but it was part of my cover. If it hadn't been necessary, I wouldn't have done it, I promise you."

How dare he try to calm her down! "So what else have you been lying about? Are you... are you secretly going to kill me or something too?"

For some reason his gaze went to Noin for a second. "You know everything now that you need to know, Your Highness. I am here to protect you."

She stood up. She was going to go find Pargan and eat lunch. The hell with this. "My name is Relena."

She walked out of the room in a huff, but damn him anyway for being so hot that she couldn't even stay mad at him for a good reason.

At least she'd be able to talk to him a lot more now. And he said he was going to protect her and be honest, that was good, right? Optimism; that was the key.

* * *

"Today went well, don't you think?" Mr. Winner said. "Tomorrow there's an executive general meeting and I'd like you both to attend and take notes. It should be a good opportunity to really understand where the company is at these days."

Iria snorted softly from the backseat of the car. "That's as close as the Winners get to a family reunion," she muttered just loudly enough for Quatre to hear. He had to scratch the tip of his nose to hide his smile; they had five brothers-in-law sitting on the eleven-member executive board.

"Sounds fine to me, Father," he said dutifully, just in case his father actually required some kind of response to his pseudo-request. With a sigh Quatre stretched some of the day's tension out of his shoulders and slumped a little in his seat, pushing his sunglasses up his nose. The past several days may have been a little too stressful and depressing, but there were definite little perks to being back home and in his family's good graces. Like his father's favourite car, a sleek Aston-Martin convertible. Quatre wasn't especially knowledgeable about cars but any fool could appreciate the purr under the hood and the sinuous lines of this machine. His father certainly seemed to enjoy driving it; every lull in traffic had him up-shifting and displaying a little of the speed that the thing was capable of, and they seemed to be taking the scenic route back home. Quatre had no complaints and he didn't think his sister did, either, judging by what he could see of the smile on her face in the mirror.

Indulging in just a little more slouching, he adjusted the mirror again until he could see more of the road behind him. In striking contrast to their Aston-Martin, the car directly behind them was a well-travelled Volvo. He frowned suddenly; something was niggling the back of his brain. It wouldn't surface though, whatever it was, so he turned his attention back to the feel of the breeze through his hair.

Five minutes later, the Volvo was still right behind them. The sun was striking its windshield at an angle but he could make out the shapes of two grown men inside.

"Father," Quatre said, interrupting light chatter between Mr. Winner and Iria. "Would you mind taking the next right turn?" His voice came out sounding tight and nervous to him but with any luck it would help hurry things along.

As was only to be expected, his father shot him a strange look. "Why? Is there somewhere you need to go?"

For an instant Quatre was going to lie to him. "No... just... please? The next right?"

Iria leaned forward. "Is something wrong?"

Quatre's gaze kept drifting toward the mirror beside him. His fingers were itching to reach for a gun he didn't have anymore. "I..." He took a deep breath and cleared his throat. "I think we're being followed. No, Iria, don't turn around!"

She stopped herself fast enough that it just looked like she'd twitched. Their father was glancing back and forth between their faces and the rear-view mirror. "Followed?" His tone was about as skeptical as they got.

"Well, I won't know for sure until you make a couple of right turns and try to lose them. The downside of this is that if they are following us, they'll know we're onto them and I don't want to consider what might happen next."

Iria went pale. Mr. Winner's knuckles whitened against the leather steering wheel, and then he made a sudden right turn. "How many more?" was all he had to say.

"You can go right around the block or take one more right and then find a different route; it's up to you." Quatre slid down his seat a little farther and took off his sunglasses. "I wouldn't object to you putting the roof up, either."

His father pressed the button to release the roof without further comment and it clicked into place over their heads as he circled the block back to their original path. When they approached the intersection that would take them back to where they started and Quatre spotted the unmarked white van sitting at the light with its right turn indicator on, the bottom dropped out of his stomach. They were well and truly fucked.

"Hang on!" he yelled, praying wordlessly as he braced himself. He heard the roar of the Volvo behind them and saw a flash of white through the windshield before there was a wrenching, screaming, crunching lurch and his head banged off the passenger door.

* * *

The first thing he knew was that there were voices around him and he was pretty sure he recognized them. The second thing he knew was that his left arm was pinned against his chest by something heavy. The third thing he knew was that his head was being bashed with a hammer and he was about to throw up, and that this was not the first time. He heaved himself upright and a bucket conveniently appeared right under his chin. No, definitely not the first time. Surprisingly, his stomach still seemed to have something to expel. When he thought he could handle breathing again, something soft was rubbed across his mouth and chin and a cup was pressed into his right hand. Sweet, cool, lovely water. He spat the first mouthful into the bucket and downed the rest greedily. The weight of the bucket was removed from his lap and he thought opening his eyes might be worth a try.

"Don't move that too far," Quatre said as he cracked his eyelids open. His voice felt and sounded like it was clawing its bloody-minded way out of his throat. He peeked through his eyelashes and was pleased to find that the lights were turned down and he probably wouldn't need the bucket again right away. He blinked a few times and the room came into focus to reveal a nurse in the corner and five of his sisters crowded around him. He was in a hospital and his left arm was in a cast and strapped across his chest.

He'd seen happier rooms in war zones. "What..." he tried, casting his gaze around and eventually fixing on Nadia, the eldest.

She seemed to take the hint. "You're in the hospital, Quatre. You and Father and Iria were all in a car accident. Do you remember?"

Quatre thought about that for a moment. "We were being followed," he blurted suddenly. He felt about as bewildered at his outburst as most of the girls looked. Someone on his left snorted. Unsurprisingly, it turned out to be Jameela, one of the younger ones.

"I didn't know you were a conspiracy theorist, little boy. It was a car accident. They happen all the time for no good reason. Crazy drivers in town."

"Shut up, Jameela," Nadia snapped. Jameela shot her sister a venomous look but obeyed; if things were still how Quatre remembered them being, it was rare for Nadia to snap at anyone like that. The next thing she did was shoo everyone out of the room with excuses that they'd all seen him awake now and he needed to rest without a bunch of silly girls crowding around him, and then Quatre knew something was very, very wrong. The nurse took this opportunity to escape too and almost before he knew it, there was only him, Nadia and Samar (the third oldest, and obviously very pregnant) left in the room.

Quatre didn't know what to say, so he just waited for someone to take away the decision. This led to a short staring contest with Samar, who eventually nudged Nadia in the ribs.

The wind had completely gone out of Nadia's sails. "So, um, there was a car accident," she stuttered.

"That was almost two days ago. You got a bad concussion, some whiplash and some stitches where there were cuts from glass, and you broke your arm in two places," Samar added helpfully.

Quatre reached up with his good hand and first felt the soft gauze on his head and then the padded brace around his neck. No wonder his neck felt stiff. _They must have put me on some good drugs,_ he thought. "What about Iria?" he demanded. "And Father?" He couldn't deny that their father was still an afterthought as far as he was concerned.

His sisters' faces told him as much as words could have. Quatre looked down at his lap and stared fixedly at the IV coming out of the back of his right hand. It itched a bit where the needle entered the skin and he tried to focus on that for a second but it didn't work. "Both of them?" he said quietly.

Nadia answered. "F-Father died instantly. Iria... they tried to save her, but..." But. Quatre examined the plastic tube where it was taped to his wrist. Maybe he should pull the needle and the tube full of painkillers out with his teeth, grab a weapon and make a break for it. He could leave. That would be fine by him.

"Quatre?"

It felt like a year before he felt calm enough to look back up at his sisters. "Would you mind leaving me alone for a while? Please?"

They left without argument. Quatre eased himself back onto the pillows and closed his eyes.

* * *

"Enter!" came the muffled response to Zechs' knock on the Commander's office door. Rebalancing his armload of files, he walked inside to find Treize standing next to the window, staring outside.

"I've brought the personnel files you requested, Commander," he said hesitantly, trying to gauge his superior's mood.

Treize didn't turn around. "Find an empty spot on the desk for them, Colonel."

Zechs pushed aside a small mountain of memos to make space for the stack. Standing at attention, he waited for his dismissal, but Treize was still mostly ignoring him. He had other things to do, dammit. He cleared his throat. "Um, sir? Is there anything else I can...?"

Treize turned around quite abruptly and went straight for his chair. "Please take a seat, Colonel."

Zechs took one, but inside he was flailing a little. Treize was watching him; should he talk? Luckily, after a moment the decision was taken away from him.

"This White Fang thing," the Commander started. "It's killing us. The casualties, the loss of resources... the entire upper ranks is in a complete panic; no one knows what to do."

"That's... disheartening."

Treize chuckled. "Isn't it, though. Myself, if I think about it for too long, I just start laughing and can't stop. They don't like it when I show up to organizational meetings anymore—I have to send Lady Une instead." He settled back into his chair. "White Fang has been startlingly quiet ever since I sent some men after two of their known operatives—those teenagers. I'm frankly quite worried. We never recovered their bodies, either, so there you go. Trouble is brewing on the horizon."

"What does that mean for OZ, then, sir?" Zechs couldn't help being interested by intrigue and struggle at this level, even if it was far above his pay grade.

"Well, in the short term, there are some very important puzzle pieces to be placed, and soon, if we want to continue as we are. In the long term, there is going to be conflict. A lot of it. I don't think we can avoid it anymore." He looked thoughtful.

"What kind of puzzle pieces are you talking about, sir, if you don't mind my asking?"

Treize sighed. "We know of one or two high-level political figures that are probable targets for assassination. Chaos is nearly guaranteed if they aren't protected." He gave a delicate shrug. "Sounds like a job for OZ, don't you think, Colonel?"

Zechs straightened up more in his seat. "I would be honoured to help win this war in any way I can, Commander."

The Commander smiled faintly. "That's good to hear, but you work too hard, Colonel Merquise. Tell you what: why don't you take a couple of days' leave? Go see the countryside. Catch up with Lieutenant Noin."

Zechs hesitated; he was actually being granted vacation time at such an hour of strife. His first instinct was to appeal to stay where the action was, but it had been a while since he'd been able to check up on Noin and Relena, and if things were getting difficult, then who knew when another opportunity would come? And frankly, this White Fang thing was making him feel edgy for his sister's sake. He nodded. "Thank you, sir; I believe I will."

Treize's smile got wider. "Excellent! Report back for duty on Monday morning, Colonel, and I expect you to be well-rested, eh?" He winked.

Zechs had no earthly idea how to respond to that, so he accepted his dismissal quietly.

* * *

A/N: For those of you playing the home game, I recently graduated university and am currently working on getting a job. Spare time to write will sort itself out accordingly. I think my focus for the next little while will be on my other GW fic-in-progress... and another shorter one I couldn't not start. Sigh.


End file.
